Mad Max: The Lost Warrior
by TimeFury1347
Summary: The story is known. A road war for freedom. The people are known. The Imperator, the Fool, the Wives. But what if there was another? Join Cayden as he gets wrapped up in this mad dash for freedom, a chance for him to quench the rage in his heart, to silence the voices in his head as he treads the Fury Road.
1. Prologue

The Wasteland. In a word, vast. Reaching from horizon to horizon, it stretched as far as any man could go, and continuing still. This expanse, built of desert, swamp and mountain, was conceived from the sins of mankind, born in fire and stood in the ashes of what had preceded it. Those born into this hell, who held no memories of before, would tell you that the Wasteland had always existed, and would do so until the end of days. Those who had died in the creation of it would tell you nothing. Their bones litter this new world, a lingering reminder of their failures and the price they paid for them. Those who survived, however, would tell you of before, of a time of green and life, not dust and death. Provided, of course, that their minds had also survived the journey, and not instead left their bodies to wander, due after dune, in search of the past, consuming themselves in the grief of loss and the desire to rebuild, a desire for a second chance. But second chances are rare, and do not come cheap.

Once upon a time, as the sane survivors will tell you, there was a world before the Wasteland. A world made up of colours, of green and blue and white and yellow and more, where humanity thrived and none were forced to face the horrors of survival. The world was alive, with water and food to spare, and people went about their lives, living, working and growing side by side. But this was not to last. People became greedy, as people inevitably do, and began to use more and more, wasting what they believed to be limitless, but instead proved shockingly finite. People fought each other for even a tank of gasoline, maimed and killed each other for even the smallest cup of dirty water. This continued to grow, with more and more people realising that the world they had lived in, the world they knew, was coming to an end, and that there was no hope of turning back. Eventually, conflict, once confined between one person and another, soon turned into country against country, when the word still meant anything, and the world was torn apart in the struggle for resources, the planet bathed in nuclear fire, killing hundreds of millions, in the name of survival. And so, the Wasteland was born, filled with sand and blood and death. Little remained of before, solids like cars and guns, liquids like water and gasoline, and the dust and bones of the dead haunting the planet, taunting those who wander the desert of what was before, and the selfishness which destroyed it.

It was in this time, when humanity was in the process of tearing itself apart, that a man rose. This man had fought in the wars that had raged for resources, had bled for the survival of his home, and had been honoured and commended for trying to patch up the mistakes of those he protected, those he had watched his brothers-in-arms die for. This man saw, as many did, that the world would not long survive the disasters and atrocities that had been wrought upon it, and that a new world would soon rise, born like a phoenix from the dust and ashes of the last. But, unlike many others, he refused to accept it. He refused to simply lie back and let himself be destroyed with his fellow men. And so, he acted. In the dying days of the world, he gathered together his gang, those who wouldn't die passively, who would follow him in controlling their own lives, their own fates, and he drove. His Horde followed him, constantly growing and developing. After the world was changed, baked in fire, he grew harder, simply killing others and taking what he could, rampaging and stealing as he saw fit, like the Viking raiders of old. In time, he found three landmarks which would grow to be his kingdom. One was an oil refinery, with its black liquid still rising from out of its pumps, bleeding from the earth. Another was a lead mine, a deep gash in the ground which was still filled with the tools required to mine and meld the material found into food for the Horde's massive armoury. And the last place, a trio of rock pillars, shooting high into the sky, dominating the surrounding landscape. These places would soon become known as Gastown, the Bullet Farm, and the Citadel, and would grow into the three crowning gem in the Horde King's empire.

And so, for nearly fifteen years, the man built. He carved a home out of the pillars, joining it with the oil refinery and the lead mine. In time, other survivors came to the pillars, and were promised water in return for loyalty. This number only grew, until the ground surrounding the fortress was littered with stragglers and survivors, all living in the shadow of the Citadel, and all totally dependent on its ruler for life. The man took the boys who came to him, those who didn't know of any time before, and trained them, moulded them into his brainwashed, zealous army. He took women from the survivors, those who had not had their beauty marred by radiation or life in the desert, and made them his breeders, through which he would further his legacy. The man stopped being known as a man, and became Immortan, sitting on his throne of dust and skulls, ruling over his little stretch of Hell.

Eventually, he grew bored, and desired more, as all men eventually do. His gaze swept the desert, searching for a new conquest, and his eyes came to rest on a small cluster of mountains, not far from his throne. These mountains, slanting into the sky, sheltered a small settlement, where survivors had cowered from the new world, slowly growing into a community, albeit a small one, with the people beginning to tentatively reach out, aiming to rebuild what had been lost. And it was into this that the Immortan drove, accompanied by his Horde. He offered the people water and protection in return for their loyalty, as he had done with others, but they refused, seeing what he was and fearing for a future under him. He came to them again, offering the same deal over and over, steadily growing angrier at their defiance, until one day, he gave up. If they wouldn't accept his peace, they would taste his war and fury. He amassed his army and attacked, intending to take the settlement. But he was pushed back, the settlers refusing to roll over and accept surrender. Again he charged, and again he was repelled. The process was repeated and repeated, until the defenders tired and could no longer weather the onslaught. And, finally, the Immortan charged, and the defences fell, leading him to the heart of the settlement. Those living there never stood a chance, the Immortan's anger being too great to ever consider mercy. The Horde rampaged, killing and pillaging everyone and everything, nothing and no one being spared from their chaos. And eventually, the Immortan stood over the ashes of this settlement, his feet planted on the rotting corpses of those who had fought to defend it. Over time, he turned this place into an extension of his kingdom, and continued his rule, believing all those who might want revenge on him to be dead, lying in the dust. He was wrong.

For, as he stood over the bodies of those who died facing him, a boy watched. Watched from beneath the bodies of his family, as everything he had known was destroyed, everyone he had cared for cut down without mercy, left as food for the maggots and crows. And, cowering beneath those empty husks, he swore a vow. A vow to the memories of his family, a vow to the home that had been ripped from him, that he would avenge their destruction. And for years, he grew. He patched himself back together, built himself the tools he would need to enact his revenge. Even when he had calmed the fire in his heart, when he had silenced the violent rage filling him up to burst, the desire still remained. The desire to hurt the Immortan, as he had hurt him, to take everything he cared about, everything he had built, and leave him standing in the ruins of what had once been his, before finally ending him, and fulfilling his promise.

This is his story.


	2. Chapter 1

The Wasteland stretched out as far as the eye could see, the great expanse of sand and dust seeming to have no end, reaching the horizon and continuing to infinity. In one direction, a road reached towards a gigantic cloud of black that permanently darkened the sky over Gastown, born from the fumes which were eternally being belched out of the machines that brought the thick gooey substance up from the rock and turned it into the black gold that powered almost every aspect of life in the desert. The giant structures could be seen from miles around, eternal symbols of the power of guzzoline and the extent people would go to claim it for themselves. In another direction, a road led off seemingly to nowhere, with those who possessed the knowledge aware that it led to the great Bullet Farm, where lead was mined and refined by the ton into the weapons and ammunition of death that ruled the Wastes. Each settlement, while great in its own way, were dwarfed by the structure that brought the two together, the structure from where the great overlord of the land ruled, with an iron fist and his army of War Boys: The Citadel.

The three rocky fists punched up into the sky, riddled with caves, tunnels and, outwardly, massive metal walkways and pipes, connecting the natural towers. The multiple cranes that balanced on top of each were surrounded by masses of green, a sign of life in the barren landscape. These towers represented the grandeur and power of the man who ruled over them, with no single element being more defining than the three colossal pipes which jutted out from one of the pillars, far above the surface of the world. It was from these pipes that the rock's king controlled his people, for they reached down, far into the earth, to a great underground reservoir, filled to the brim with a nearly endless source of clean water. These pipes, controlled by a simple lever system, brought this life-giving fluid up, until it came cascading out of the steel holes, falling onto whoever was fortunate enough to be stood below, receiving the precious resource. This simple facet of the Citadel was what its ruler, the Immortan Joe, had used for nearly a quarter of a decade to maintain his power, offering those under his protection just the slightest taste of the cool liquid to keep them sweet and favourable of him, a tempting morsel to drive them to him. The Citadel itself, aside from these pipes, housed the very heart of Immortan Joe's empire, possessing a great armada of vehicles, supplies and the ability to produce more to allow anyone to gorge themselves until the end of their days and, most importantly, the Vault, where Joe's breeders were kept, the most beautiful women in the Wastes, from whom the next generation of Joe's empire would be conceived. The Citadel was indeed an incredible sight to behold, a combination of man and nature never seen before, and dominating the surrounding area. Mostly.

For, a handful of miles away from the Citadel, there were a cluster of rocky hills, dipping up and down with the land. And it was here, on an outcrop that faced the desert, a man knelt. This man, dressed in dark clothing, was placed in front of a black car, battered and pockmarked from years of use and battle, and held a pair of binoculars to his face, the thick frames granting him sight to events far away. Through the glass of these binoculars, green eyes gazed across the Wastes, towards the Citadel, where something very important was about to occur. Cayden, or the man who had been known as Cayden, peered through the lenses, watching as a great metal lift descended from the underbelly of one of the Citadel's pillars. This lift had already been up and down half a dozen times, ferrying down cars and motorcycles that would act as support and guards for the convoy that was soon to depart, with the object of their work being slowly dropped to ground level. Cayden watched as a great tanker was connected to the back of a lorry, forming Immortan Joe's famous War Rig, a true marvel of Wasteland survival. The War Boys that scrambled over it worked hastily, yet reverently, almost worshipping the metal monster they were constructing. They shouted at each other as they worked, but Cayden was too far away to hear the words. He knew them though, having heard them before, numerous times in his small trips to the Citadel, and he could see their lips forming the words as he watched.

"Kamikrazee…Aqua Cola…Mother's Milk…Joe!"

Cayden grimaced at the last word, the last thing he needed right now was a reminder of that monster, and turned his attention to the figure that approached the Rig. The black smear across its forehead denoted it as one of the War Boys, but the lack of white skin, covered in powder, and the clothes it wore, covering up more than the black pants of the others, showed how it was in fact an Imperator. Cayden knew exactly who it was, a legend amongst the War Boys: Furiosa. The only woman to ever serve Joe in that capacity, Furiosa had arrived at the Citadel many years ago, a kidnapped child, and had been trained to fight for Joe, rising through the ranks to become one of his Imperators, his commanders. The metal arm that was a constant presence at her left side did nothing to take away from her image, only adding to her reputation around the Wasteland. Cayden knew all about her, had heard the stories from inebriated War Boys and those who had personally encountered her. All the stories shared the image of a fierce commander, a skilled driver and a ruthless warrior, killing without hesitation or remorse. Cayden sighed. If things had been different, he had the idea that the two of them would get along, the road warrior possessing a sizeable, though grudging, respect for the woman. He quickly repressed the thoughts, she worked for Joe, she was the enemy, and watched her climb into the Rig's cabin, from where she would deliver the tanker to Gastown and bring back more fuel for the massive number of vehicles that obeyed Joe's every whim. This convoy was the main reason Cayden was positioned where he was, waiting. He had memorised the route it would take, knew the number of vehicles which would accompany it, as well as their weak spots, and have several ambush spots ready in his mind, from where he would dish out death and destruction to the servants of his enemy. He had been on the outcrop for two days, waiting for his mission to begin. He had watched as a patrol brought in a captured car, a rare V8, and its driver the previous day, where he knew both would be broken down and used for parts. He had also watched the escape attempt of the captured driver, leaping onto a hook from a hundred feet up in the air, only to be captured once again and dragged back into the dark recesses of the rock. Now, he watched, as the War Boys finished their preparations, attaching the large fuel pod to the back of the tanker, and scampered to their vehicles, readying for the long haul ahead.

The movement of those who lived in the shadow of the Citadel caught Cayden's eye, and he turned to look. These people, the Wretched, they were called, were made up of all sorts, of survivors and scavengers, of men and women, of mutated and injured alike, all drawn by the promise of water. Joe had enslaved them to his will, giving them enough to keep them dependent on him, yet too little for them to have the strength to rise up against him. He took the boys that either came to or were born in the Citadel, young boys who knew nothing other than what was told to them, and forged them into his War Boys, brainwashing them to treat him like a god and obey his every desire, willing to die in his service. The women, too, Joe used, either as fuel for his Mother's Milk production, or as his breeders, although very few of those came from the proverbial cesspool that surrounded his fortress. Any others taken up were used to power his machinery, to raise and lower the giant lift, and to act as bloodbags for his War Boys, giving their blood to rejuvenate his army until they were completely drained. Cayden had always been disgusted by this, by the man who had always held others in disgust, only using them to further himself before casting them aside, with the Wretched still serving him, desperate for even a taste of the great body of water he had at his disposal. Cayden watched as, one by one, every single person littering the ground looked up to one of the stacks, to the balcony that topped the great pipes. He positioned his binoculars to allow him a better view, and saw a group of men amassing in the area. One shouted something into a megaphone, announcing his master, and then the man himself appeared, being helped by his son, a massive man with a baby's brain, Rictus Erectus, and stood in front of the great lever control, megaphone in hand. Immortan Joe.

Cayden took in the grotesque sight that met his eyes. Immortan Joe, or Joe Moore as he had been known before his 'ascension to godhood', was an old man, on the wrong side of 60, and definitely showing it. His skin, or what little of it that could be seen, was white, covered in the same powder as the War Boys, and was saggy, beginning to ooze over the mask that obscured the lower half of his face. His hair was also white, and reminded Cayden of some sort of horse's mane which he had told about as a child. The mask that covered Joe's mouth only added to this illusion, the yellow horse teeth giving him a permanent, hideous grin. The mask connected to two plastic pipes, which led back to a large air pump on Joe's back, giving him the means to keep breathing, something Cayden sorely wished he would stop doing. The rest of Joe was covered in partially misted plexiglas armour, the surface of it providing the knowledge that the rest of Joe was also covered in the white powder, the armour to cover up the welts and tumours that covered his body. Honestly, Cayden was surprised that the man had survived this long, as, without his position, he would most likely have dropped dead in a matter of days. The armour itself was sculpted, meant to resemble a muscular chest, probably to boost Joe's ego even further, but, with the white and sickly yellow of his skin pressed against it, it resembled more of a caged monster, pressing for release with slimy tendrils than it did the boy of a man. The chest and shoulders of the armour were decorated with medals, trophies which once meant something, but were now merely metal baubles that highlighted Joe's vain nature and fall from a once honourable man to the dictatorial maniac he had become.

Cayden watched as Joe held the megaphone to his face, the mask and distance preventing him from hearing what was being said. He had a rough idea though. Joe was saying what the convoy was for, praising Furiosa and the War Boys, and generally making himself sound like a saving god. He watched, however, the Wretched who stared up, faces filled with an expectant look, waiting for the gift they knew was coming. Cayden saw as, when Joe handed the megaphone to a War Boy behind him, the great crowd began to edge forward, growing restless in their desire for water. They didn't have to wait long. Joe's hand suddenly shifted the levers forward, releasing torrents of water from the huge pipes down onto the crowd below. Cayden watched as people surged forward, desperate to fill up as many flasks, bowls and buckets as they could, inwardly sighing at the water that was so clearly wasted by such an ostentatious display. This waterfall didn't last long, however. Barely half a minute had passed before Joe pulled the levers back, cutting off the flow of water. Those on the ground, realising the declining shower, hurried to get what little they could before it was gone. Cayden watched as many began to fight among themselves, clawing for what few drops each person had managed to gain that, even now, were being swallowed by the dirt, hurled aside by the very people who sought to claim them. Cayden squeezed his eyes shut tight as he let out a throaty growl. Joe truly was a disgusting piece of work, who seemed to enjoy the horrors he put the Wretched through, and who made no move to help the very people who kept his empire running. This behaviour was only added to the list of reasons in Cayden's head for why the Wasteland would be an inconceivably better place when Joe had been destroyed. It was quite a long list.

As this had been going on, however, the convoy had begun to move, Furiosa seemingly eager to escape the confines of the Citadel and the pitiful sight occurring in it. Cayden' eyes, wrenched back to the object of his work, watched the procession as it trailed its way out of the Citadel's shadow and onto the highway, only reacting once the last car had reached the blackened path. Instantly, he was standing, shaking the ache from his limbs and turned to his car, tossing the binoculars in the back and slamming the door shut, quickly starting the engine. The car had been found a long time ago by Cayden, left to rust in the desert, before he had come across it and brought it to his campsite, where he had spent the next several weeks repairing and upgrading it. The battered body, what had once been a Mustang, was painted black, with the paint peeling in place to show the silver metal underneath. The wheels were reinforced to be slash proof and were ridged, so as to better grip the sand. The engine, one of the few V8s that still existed, stuck out of the hood, gears spinning as it cycled up. The car had seen plenty of combat, demonstrated by the dents and bullet holes all over the body, and the windscreen was dirty, cracking in places due to years of use. Nevertheless, the entire thing was, in Cayden's mind, absolutely beautiful, a breath of fresh air in a desert where that was nearly unheard of without an accompanying sandstorm, and had proved its worth time and time again, carrying him through innumerable battles and into the mystical Plains of Silence, where it had been his only companion in his search for answers. It had seen him through hard times, and would do so again, as it finished cycling up and jettisoned forward at the release of the handbrake, propelling man and machine across the rock and down onto the sand, beginning its journey towards the convoy.

Cayden soon caught up to the convoy, the V8 engine easily outpacing all the smaller vehicles' engines. He kept his distance though, driving over dune and rocky ridge, not wanting to be spotted before the time was right. The road was virtually a straight line through the sand, worn and made clear through constant use, and so he was able to keep his eye on the Rig, instead of worrying about direction. He couldn't see Furiosa, the Rig being too far forward for that, but he watched it move, covering the miles between Gastown and the Citadel with ease, waiting for it to draw closer to the ambush spot, and so begin his plan. Suddenly, and to Cayden's complete surprise, it never made it there, veering off east without warning onto a much less used road. Evidently, the other vehicles in the convoy were as confused as he was, as they struggled to catch up and correct the formation, not expecting the sudden change in direction. For a moment, Cayden was confused, wracking his brain for any clue as to what the Rig was doing. Had he missed something? Was there another settlement the Rig was delivering to that he didn't know about? Had he been spotted, and the Rig trying to draw him into a trap? These thoughts buzzed through his mind, with Cayden struggling to reach any logical conclusion. Eventually, he gave up trying to explain it. He had no idea what the Rig was doing, and he was certain he hadn't been spotted. He'd been too careful for that. He decided to turn, still staying out of sight as he raced to make up the distance he'd lost. The best way to find out what was going on, he figured, would be to follow the Rig and see where it went. Setting himself into this idea, he pressed on, car flying over the dune as he turned and headed east, following the form of the truck as it moved.


	3. Chapter 2

Cayden followed the convoy, watching it from a distance as it wound its way through the sand, venturing further and further away from the Citadel. His curiosity at the destination they were driving to had still not gone down, and he was slowly beginning to come to some conclusions in his head. There was definitely no alternate destination Joe could have sent them to, as he was now completely certain that there were no outposts this far from the Citadel, near the edges of Joe's kingdom. It was highly unlikely that Furiosa had spotted him, and decided to trick him into getting close enough to destroy. He was too cautious to have allowed himself to be spotted and, even if that were the case, the support cars would have been sent after him, rather than this strange jaunt into the Wastes. Even a training exercise was out of the question, as Joe had never hid one under the pretence of a convoy, and, when the Rig had turned east, the War Boys had seemed to be as confused as he was. The only conclusion Cayden could draw that made any sense was that Furiosa had defected, deciding to steal Joe's prized Rig and make a break for it, pretending to be heading to Gastown on a convoy run. This, while not seeming completely feasible in his head, was the only idea he could think of which didn't sound ridiculous. Adding a squirt more gas, Cayden zoomed on, now level with the back of the tanker, while keeping his distance, allowing him a better look at what the state of the convoy was. They were just driving, no offensive or defensive formation, no indication that anything was wrong. He ground his teeth together as his eyes squeezed tightly shut. Cayden hated problems, hated walking into any situation with little to no idea as to what was awaiting him. Any plan of ambush, when that had still been his main goal, was scuttled, as he was too unfamiliar with the territory to sketch one out in his head. And so, resigning himself to remaining in the unknown, Cayden leaned back in his seat and sighed, continuing to trail the convoy, choosing to wait for something, anything, to happen before he made his move.

A while later, Cayden being too bored to remember the minutes, a sudden change in the corner of his eye caught his attention. He twisted in his seat, looking back the way they had come, and saw something he really wished he hadn't. The sky, previously featureless in its bright blueness, was decorated with flashes of colour, several red and yellow flares having been released from far behind. He recognised the signal, having seen the message before in this part of the Wasteland. Joe must have noticed the disappearance of his convoy from the road to Gastown, and was calling in his War Boy forces from there to come help him out. Another look told Cayden that the same message had been sent to the Bullet Farm. A frown marring his brow, he grabbed his binoculars and peered behind, half his attention still dedicated to ensuring he didn't lose the convoy. Sure enough, just in the distance, he saw a flash of light on metal. The silhouettes of multiple vehicles outlined the horizon behind him, and Cayden bit back a growl. War Party, no doubt about it. There were too many vehicles for it to be anything else, the colourful explosions that dotted the sky only confirming it. Joe had seen the change, Joe had released his horde from the Citadel, and Joe had summoned his followers from the two other main regions he ruled, all of them coming after the vehicles Cayden was currently following, weaving in and out of dunes. His brain began to work overtime. Joe must have had a seriously good reason to call in this many cars. The Rig itself couldn't have been the only cause of this. As powerful a symbol as it was, Joe would never commit so many of his forces to hunting it down, not least because it would leave the Citadel, Joe's paradise in this Hell, almost completely defenceless, the War Pups and ill War Boys its only guardians. Despite this, Cayden still couldn't think of any possible scenario that would cause Joe to act like this. His mind was soon prevented from continuing this train of thought, as his eyes caught something, sitting above the convoy on a rocky plateau, snapping him back to the present.

Cayden knew the land around the Citadel, knew its paths and roads, and, most of all, knew who dwelt in which regions. Therefore, he had no hesitation in deducing the allegiance of the car that sat across from him, on the other side of the convoy. A brief glance through his binoculars, and Cayden was completely certain. The rusted shell of the vehicle, covered by as many metal spikes as could fit on its surface, could only belong to one group. The Buzzards. Cayden had dealt with them before, the first time making the foolish mistake in trying to barter with them. If the language barrier hadn't been enough, the men he encountered talking in a strange, guttural tone he couldn't decipher, the crossbow bolts and bullets which had been sent his way had only strengthened his decision to abandon his errand and drive as fast as he could to escape. It was only later, when he had told another of his encounter, that he learnt exactly what the group was. They were a reclusive collection, living in cave systems and fortified valleys, spending their nights and some days hunting down every single piece of scrap they could get their hands on. This had led him to believe that they were merely trying to rebuild the Old World, as many others in the Wasteland sought to do. However, he had quickly been dissuaded from this notion. The Buzzards had no desire to fix the world, he had been told in no uncertain terms. They were more than happy to let it rot. They sought scrap to assist them in their mission of conquest and death, wasting metal on decorating their vehicles with spikes to destroy the vehicles and people they came across, and to bring them food, the gang being notable cannibals. Just hearing that word had shifted Cayden's mind, turning from passive curiosity to downright hatred. If he hated anything on par with Joe, it was those who took the lives of others for no other reason than because they could. From then on, he had shown no mercy to any Buzzard, slaughtering any he came across without mercy. Such monsters couldn't be allowed to survive, with the possibility of them hurting others, and so he took it upon himself to end them, one by one.

Seeing the Buzzard car come to a rest at the edge of the rock, the occupants most certainly looking down at the small collection of cars and motorcycles that had seemingly invaded their territory, Cayden's mind began to work. It was impossible that the Buzzards would simply let the group pass through their lands without consequences, being too obsessed with metal and bone to give up such a golden opportunity. In all likelihood, more would be called in, ready and willing to rip the convoy apart and pillage anything they could. For a moment, Cayden considered letting them. They hadn't attacked him personally yet, and the War Boys worked for Joe, so their deaths wouldn't exactly harm anyone. Besides, the Rig would be destroyed, removing a deadly weapon from Joe's arsenal. However, he knew that the idea would never take shape. He despised the Buzzards far too much to let them survive any encounter he could end, and the War Boys, while servants of Joe, didn't deserve to die impaled on a car. Hell, Cayden wouldn't wish that on his worst enemy, preferring a much slower death for such a man. Besides, the Rig was apparently carrying something Joe clearly wanted back, and he truly, desperately needed to know what it was. In Cayden's mind, anything this precious to Joe was well worth protecting, even if it did mean helping the War Boys protect it. This plan in his mind, he chose to, instead of rushing down to assist, instead remain where he was, drawing only a little closer for a better view. After all, until he knew the exact number of Buzzards that would attack, the only thing that would happen were he to rush in headlong would be for him to get destroyed, either by the Buzzards or the War Boys. No, better to keep his distance until the situation developed, so as to maximise on his eventual attack.

As he sat back, content in his plan, Cayden heard two loud blasts from the Rig, alerting him to the fact that he was no longer the only one to notice the Buzzards. Evidently, either Furiosa or one of the lookouts had spotted them, for, over the slowly decreasing distance between the vehicles, Cayden heard a cry of 'Thunder Up!', with the support cars moving to respond, switching from relaxed to battle ready in an instant. The new formation, clearly prepared for battle, moved through the miniature canyon, huddled between the two rocky slopes on either side. Cayden continued to watch, eyeing the increasing number of spiked cars approaching on all sides, some dangerously close to his position, waiting for the first move to be played. He didn't have to wait long. As the convoy passed over a ridge, the lead car flipped forward, evidently triggering a trap. The Rig swerved, barely avoiding meeting the same fate as the car performed a complete spin, coming to rest in a previously hidden pit, the driver skewered and the lancer on the back hurled forward, hitting the ground at an angle which Cayden presumed broke his neck. Drawing his eyes back to the scene, he watched as one of the Buzzards drove up onto the far side of the Rig, destroying one of the motorcycles in the process. The remaining one, hidden from Cayden's view, seemed to be throwing the exploding javelins, or Thunderpoons, as he had heard them called before, as the attacker's armour, attempting to detonate the fuel tank and destroy it. The fact that one of the War Boys swung out of sight on a crane contraption, returning from the circle with another War Boy clinging to his arm, as well as the wreckage of the second motorbike appearing from the area hidden by the Rig showed Cayden how the attempt had failed. The lead car, however, banked to the right, and Cayden could see the lancer in the back fire a series of Thunderpoons at the Buzzard, destroying it and sending its remains flying back.

The War Boys appeared to celebrate this victory, waving their arms and shouting to one another, but were quickly silenced by the arrival of a second car, this time on the side closest to Cayden, which was attempting to burst the Rig's tyres, a large circular saw swinging over to damage the tanker itself. Cayden watched, enthralled, as a War Boy climbed towards the Rig's cabin, seeming to have a brief discussion with the driver. A moment later, and the door swung open, revealing Furiosa clutching a crossbow device. Both her and the War Boy, who was holding what looked like a grenade launcher, fired at the second Buzzard car in unison, completely obliterating it, the wreck flying backwards to hit another Buzzard car that had drawn up behind it, the two creating an immense cloud of black smoke. Cayden watched as Furiosa once again disappeared back into the cabin, leaving the War Boys to resume their guard. However, a glance toward the smoke that was still rising from the destroyed vehicles gave Cayden pause. A new vehicle was approaching, smashing through the remains of those that had come before it. It was a gigantic flatbed lorry, carrying an old digger on its back. Both were covered in spikes, and the lorry had yet another circular saw attached to its front, as well as what looked like heavier armour than the previous two. Cayden gripped the steering wheel tighter, drawing much closer to the battle that was soon about to take place, and cursed under his breath. Today was going to be a long day.


	4. Chapter 3

The lorry drew closer to the War Rig, a smaller Buzzard car sheltering behind its massive bulk. Cayden watched as the War Boys fought to destroy these adversaries, Thunderpoons exploding against the heavy armour and a flamethrower dousing the spiked monster in brilliant orange flames, the lorry always emerging unharmed from the fire. The valiant effort of the Rig's defenders seemed to be completely pointless, however, as the lorry drew up alongside the Rig properly, its sheltered companion moving to behind the fuel pod. Cayden had drawn his car almost onto the road, not caring about being spotted anymore, only about possessing a clear picture of events. Neither party, War Boy or Buzzard, seemed to notice him anyway, both too enthralled in the vicious war they were engaged in. Therefore, Cayden's view was uninterrupted as he assessed the situation. The main focus of the War Boys was, obviously, the Buzzard lorry, which, as he watched, swept its large mechanical arm over the back of the tanker, War Boys moving quickly to avoid being sent over, flying off into the dust. Only a handful of the defenders were paying attention to the second Buzzard vehicle as it trailed the battle, occasional explosions the only indication that they even knew it was there.

An explosion at the back of the Buzzard car drew Cayden's attention to events behind the Rig. Three new vehicles had appeared, two cars and a motorcycle. The second car and the motorbike were still a fair distance away, but behind them Cayden could see Joe's War Party, having taken a quicker route to their location than the Rig had. The sight of that many vehicles made Cayden's stomach flip for a second, before he pushed the sensation away. No need to focus on them just yet. The newest car was closer to the Rig than its companions, and Cayden watched as its lancer hurled another Thunderpoon at the Buzzard. There was a muzzled figure strapped to the front of the car, and Cayden initially didn't recognise it. Clearly a bloodbag, judging from the chain connecting it to the driver inside the car, and feral too, based off the muzzle secured to its face. The figure turned its head to look at Cayden, who had pulled back slightly to get a closer look, and Cayden suddenly recognised who is was. It was the driver who had been captured by the War Boys a few days ago, whose escape attempt Cayden had watched from the ridge near the Citadel. This realisation came to Cayden in the space of a second, while the feral regarded his car with what looked to be a jealous rage, no doubt thinking about his own, now confiscated, car, that was likely being refitted to fit Joe's needs. This exchange between the two men lasted for only a few seconds, before the car the feral was strapped to drove ahead, the lancer in the back sending what appeared to be a hiss back at Cayden, causing him to shake his head at the War Boy. Psychotic bastards, the lot of them.

Cayden quickly stomped on the accelerator, not wanting to miss any of what was going on. The War Boys on the tanker had managed to harpoon the Buzzard car, preventing any chance it had of escape. The tanker and new car were now proceeding to hurl Thunderpoons at the trapped vehicle, working on penetrating the armour. As he watched, one of the explosions finally hit a crucial spot, ripping the armour apart and sending the roof of the car sailing away, loose spikes flying in every direction. Cayden heard the pings and stronger thuds as shards of metal either bounced off his car's body or stuck into it, one piece barely missing his face. Shaking away the momentary distraction, Cayden focused his attention back on the Rig. One of the War Boys leapt forward, Thunderpoon in hand, ready to destroy the damaged car. Before he had the chance, however, the Buzzard driver acted, whipping out a small hand-held crossbow, resembling the one Furiosa had used earlier. Instead of the resounding explosion hers had produced, this one was much more basic, firing two metal bolts into the War Boy, hitting him in the face and chest and sending him falling backwards. Cayden thought the shot had killed him, the shots seeming to have gone straight through him. However, he was proved wrong as the figure slowly sat up, the twin bolts sticking out of his shoulder and cheek, and reached towards his pocket. Cayden clenched his jaw tight: he knew what was coming next, and he hated it. Sure enough, the War Boy sprayed the silvery chrome liquid over his mouth, and the cries of 'Witness!' leapt up from all along the Rig's length. The War Boy grabbed two Thunderpoons, a crazed look in his eyes, and hurled himself upon the Buzzard car, the driver covering its face in an attempt to shield itself from the attack. A resounding explosion sounded, the Thunderpoon heads detonating at the heart of the car, and the twisted metal shape of the Buzzard vehicle went up and back, the harpoon line being cut to let the wreckage go flying. Cayden's teeth ground together, and his fingers gripped the steering wheel tighter at the horrific display. This was one of the many reasons why he hated Joe. Asides from being a tyrannical and vicious dictator, he forced others to obey his will fanatically, brainwashing his followers into a mindless war machine, willing to sacrifice their own lives for Joe's twisted wishes and desires. Such a monster had to be destroyed in order to bring freedom to those who suffered under him, and Cayden swore that he would see it done.

Cayden was brought back to reality when the new car moved on, passing up the left-hand side of the Rig, straight towards the lorry. He watched the reactions of the War Boys to his presence for a few moments, ready to dodge anything hurled his way. However, nothing came, the Rig defenders clearly not seeing him as a threat compared to the remaining Buzzard vehicle. Relaxing his grip on the wheel slightly, Cayden chose to move up the Rig's right side, wanting to avoid the Buzzard lorry for the time being, at least until he could work out a plan of attack. As he passed alongside the Rig, something caught his eye. He turned to look, with a curious sight meeting him. Near the base of the tanker, close to where it was connected with the cabin, a figure was emerging from a small hatch. It was a female, Cayden could tell from the long hair, and appeared to not have come from the Wasteland, the smooth sections of face he could see and the near white clothing she wore showing this. He watched her progress, going unnoticed as she passed over the gap towards the front of the Rig. As she began to climb through another hatch into the cabin, Cayden caught a glimpse of metal at her waist, and immediately knew who, or rather what, she was. There, wrapped securely around her hips, was a metal belt, a basic design with a second piece passing between her legs to connect with the other side. It was, Cayden could see, a crude chastity belt. This small fact, plus the origin of the Rig she was hidden in, caused another realisation to flash through his mind. The woman was one of Joe's breeders, women kept by Joe to supply him with heirs, and said to be, Cayden suddenly remembered, the Immortan's most prized possessions. The reason surrounding Furiosa's betrayal became clear now. She had kidnapped, or freed, as Cayden preferred to phrase it, one of Joe's breeders, using the convoy as an excuse to smuggle her out of the Citadel and free her, robbing Joe of both his possession and potential heir. As the plan revealed itself, Cayden watched the woman disappear into the hatch, presumably going to talk to Furiosa, and he made his decision. This woman was Cayden's best chance of hurting Joe, by helping her escape from Joe's control. He would help her, help Furiosa to evade Joe's War Party, robbing him of his prize and beginning his quest to take everything from Joe at the same time. Cayden set himself to this path. He had the mission, now he needed the chance to prove himself an ally to Furiosa, a chance that came sooner than he expected.

The wrenching sound of metal on metal drew Cayden's attention to the events happening on the far side of the Rig. Looking up at the cabin, he couldn't see what was going on, but spotted the shower of sparks that were visible inside. The Buzzard lorry must have deployed its saw, he realised. They were attacking Furiosa, attempting to kill her in order to stop the Rig, ending the fight. Cayden quickly stomped on the gas, sending his car hurtling forward. He passed the front of the Rig and, looking to his left, saw the new War Boy car driving backwards, one of the wheels looking slightly damaged and the lancer hurling Thunderpoon after Thunderpoon at the still hidden Buzzards. Cayden swung his car around, veering past the Rig and car altogether. Hitting the brakes for the briefest of seconds, he ended up alongside the lorry, and was given a chance to take in the scene. The saw was, indeed, imbedding itself into the Rig's cabin, the spinning metal and accompanying sparks hiding Furiosa who, he assumed, was bent double, desperately trying to avoid the burning lights and serrated death hanging above her head. There were fewer War Boys still on the Rig than the last time he'd checked, some having been knocked off by the digger arm, still sweeping back and forth. Most of the attention was on the saw, the War Boys fighting to save their driver, but some were tackling the arm, one overzealous War Boy having actually climbed on to the metal monster, hammering at it in a vain attempt to break it. Cayden knew he had to act fast, his window of opportunity closing quickly.

A Thunderpoon rang true against the lorry's armour, sending a piece of it flying, and Cayden saw it. There, hidden away was a newly exposed fuel pipe. If he could damage or destroy it, the resulting explosion would blow the lorry sky high or, at the very least, damage it enough to force it to give up its assault. Keeping his eye on the target, just in case he lost track of it, Cayden moved one of his hands off the wheel and let it fall to his hip, drawing his shotgun from its holster there. He quickly checked it over, ensuring there was at least one shell loaded and, satisfied, extended his arm out the window, training his weapons on its victim. At that moment, several things happened. The War Boys had succeeded in severely damaging the saw, sending it out of control and swinging wildly, slicing in half several of the Thunderpoons secured to the War Boy car in front of the lorry. In the same second that Cayden fired, the three-barrelled device in his hand sending its deadly load cannoning into the fuel pipe, the explosives rolled under the lorry, bouncing off the ground as they did so. The fuel pipe exploded, the shot tearing through it and igniting the liquid within. The blast ripped through the lorry, so much so that it reached the explosives underneath the body, setting them off as well. The resulting supercharged blast was too much for the heavily armoured Buzzard to handle. It went flying upwards into the air, the massive explosion coupled with still extended digger arm sending most of the remaining War Boys off the back of the tanker, either hurled into the air or consumed by the flames. Cayden retracted his arm from the window, letting the gun rest across his knees, and allowed a small grin to cross his face. Yes, that most certainly dealt with that problem.

The incoming form of the War Boy car forced Cayden to swerve, rather than join the Buzzards as scrap in the desert. The War Boy rushed passed him, spun around to face the direction the Rig was heading in and then raced forward, passing Cayden who was still trying to regain control of his car form the sudden lurch. Swearing under his breath at the reckless War Boy, he saw the car trying to catch up with the new free War Rig. He knew that the War Boy had only assisted against the Buzzards so as to keep the Rig intact, and was now moving to deal with Furiosa, to capture or kill Cayden wasn't sure. He did know, however, that letting the War Boy do so would rob him of his chance to get Joe's breeder away from him, and so hurried to catch up, prepared to ram the War Boy if he had to. Furiosa seemed to notice it too, the Rig swinging left, shifting Cayden's vision into something he hadn't noticed until then, too wrapped up in the fight. There, blocking out the horizon, was a gigantic sand storm. It reached up seemingly to the heavens, and disappeared off in either direction. And the Rig was headed straight towards it. Cayden's mind was emptied, unable to think of the strategic brilliance of the move, unable to argue the stupidity of such a decision, or to worry about whether his car would be able to make it through in one piece. Cayden could do nothing but stare at the colossal wall of sand and death as they drew closer, two words filling his head to breaking point.

"Oh shit"


	5. Author's Note

Hey guys!

Sorry about the slow down in updates, but my mock exams are seriously taking up my time. I will be publishing a new chapter hopefully this week, but just bear with me. Anyway, I just wanted to say that and address the direction this story will take

1) Some of the characters may seem different from what they do in the movie, but when I was planning this, the characters', well, characters were pretty hard to find, so I'll be taking a bit of artistic licence in what they do

2) This is my first fanfic EVER, so the story and action bits are not going to be the best. Just a sorry in advance and hopefully it'll get better with experience

3) This story is going to be a Toast/OC fic. I like her character in the movie, already like a survivor/ apprentice road warrior, so I wanted to try a pairing like this. I'll try not to make their interactions too pathetic or lovey-dovey, but this is just a warning. If you don't like this, then don't bother reading it.

Anyway, that's all I wanted to say. Thanks to anyone who's read it so far, I know it's still young but it really is big support for me. Thanks for the views, or reads or whatever, and I'll be back with the next chapter soon.

Until next time

Timefury1347


	6. Chapter 4

The sandstorm was getting closer.

That was all Cayden could focus on. Any worries about the Rig to his right, the car ahead of him or the armada of vehicles drawing closer simply refused to register in his mind, all falling in importance when compared to the massive natural wall of swirling sand the group was headed towards. Questions raced through his head. How powerful was the storm? How long would it last? Could his car even withstand it, or would it buckle under the pressure and leave him to the mercy of the Wasteland? It had taken a lot of abuse over the years, from bullets to explosives, but such a massive monster of dust and death might just be too much for it to handle. If his car broke down or was damaged beyond repair during the storm, Cayden knew he would either be killed, trapped in the endless desert, or captured by Joe's War Boys, a fate he saw as worse than death. These questions and possibilities raced through his mind, filling his head until he managed to mentally rip back control. There was no point in worrying about what could happen in the storm, about the effects it might have on his car. The Rig was heading in there and, so long as his chance to hurt Joe existed, so was he.

Turning his attention back to the Rig, Cayden's attention was snapped towards the War Boy car ahead of him. The driver's arm had extended from the window, grasping a sawed-off shotgun and was pointing it directly at the driver's window on the Rig, level with Furiosa's head. Cayden's eyes flashed around, checking to see whether Furiosa had noticed the threat and, if so, whether the Imperator was preparing an attack. After all, there would be no point in ramming the car only to be accidentally sideswiped by a colossal metal monster. However, he couldn't see the warrior woman, the ghostly white figure of a War Boy blocking the view, the only one remaining as far as Cayden could see. The figure seemed to be talking to Furiosa, with a shout of 'What have you done!?' flying back to him, in the same second as one of the War Boy's arms suddenly jerked forward into the cabin. He'd seemingly grabbed the Imperator, as the Rig began to swerve, Cayden and the War Boy car being forced to move as well to avoid being hit. This only lasted for a few seconds, however, with the War Boy's head eventually snapping back, a spray of blood preceding his fall off the side, tumbling into the sand, swallowed up and forgotten by the dunes. Watching the limp figure bounce and roll along the ground for a second, Cayden turned his attention forward once again, the danger Furiosa faced from the shotgun wielding zealot still at the forefront of his mind.

Cayden's eyes reached the direction of the car ahead of him in the same second the War Boy driver pulled the trigger. A deafening blast tore through the air, making Cayden's ears ring as he watched the door of the War Rig suddenly get peppered with tiny round dents, the metallic thuds and pings of impact audible even from his position. Cayden couldn't see Furiosa through the window, so had no idea as to whether or not she had been hit by any of the metal pellets, but he couldn't run the risk of the War Boy getting off another shot, in case it proved to be more effective. Slamming down on the accelerator, Cayden sent his car hurtling forward, ramming into the back of the War Boy car with the screech of rending metal. The jolt jerked Cayden forward in his seat, and he tasted blood when his mouth inadvertently smacked the steering wheel, but he had succeeded. The War Boy car had twisted around, the damaged wheel rupturing under the sudden pressure, and swerved past Cayden, spinning in the sand as it slowed. Cayden saw it slow, as well as noticing the second car and motorcycle finally catching up, the outline of the War Party suddenly seeming much closer. Looking forward, Cayden mentally shrugged. They were too close to the dust storm now to bother worrying about. He needed to prepare for the storm and, more importantly, he needed to ensure that Furiosa was still alive, or else his mission had just come to a rather inglorious end.

He pushed his car forward, bringing it in closer to the Rig's cabin. A strange sound coming from the engine made his brow knit in confusion, until he pinpointed the reason. His ram with the War Boy car must have jolted something loose, despite the armour. Performance didn't seem to have been affected, so Cayden stored the information away in his mind. He had more important things to deal with right now, and, since the car was otherwise fine, it should be safe to leave for time being, until he had a chance to examine it. By this time, he had drawn up alongside the Rig's window and, glancing up, saw Furiosa looking down at him, a look of confusion and steely resolve in her eyes. Deciding not to give her a reason to think him an enemy, Cayden pulled the shotgun from his hip and, before she could do anything, tossed it behind him, sending it disappearing into his supplies and, hopefully, signalling that he was no threat. Furiosa kept her gaze fixed on him for a second, making him wonder whether his signal had been clear enough, and gripping the wheel just in case. She eventually turned away from him, indicating that she accepted his position. Despite himself, Cayden let out a sigh of relief. Getting his ride destroyed right before a sandstorm would definitely not be good. Turning his attention away from the Rig, he finally focused back on the wall of dust that was quickly growing closer to them.

Cayden realised that he had to hurry if he was going to be ready for the storm, coming to the conclusion that he only had minutes, if that. He reached to the side windows and raised the covers, locking out the Wasteland. He then reached to his throat, around which was wrapped a faded balaclava. Pulling this up to cover his mouth and nose, as well as lowering the battered pair of racing goggles over his eyes, he added the final touch to the ensemble, flipping the hood of his jacket up, the thick material covering his hair. Checking again to make sure he truly was sealed away from any of the biting sand that was to come, he turned forward, spending the final few seconds bracing for the sheer force of the storm to hit him. The Rig disappeared first, the front of it seemingly swallowed by the massive cloud. He heard a scream on the far side of the Rig's hulking mass, and assumed it was the motorcycle that had recently caught up. Such vehicles weren't exactly built to handle this weather. This though flashed through his mind in the space of a second, before he too drove headlong into the storm. He was blinded for a few moments, the massive amount of dust pelting the windscreen and hood with such force that he feared they would be torn away. Fortunately, the Plexiglas and steel held, and after a handful more seconds, his vision cleared somewhat, passing through the sandstorm's front, right into its heart.

The interior of the sandstorm was truly something to behold. Bathed in an orange-brown light, the land was coated in swirling eddies of sand, all blowing this way and that, but ever in a movement of progression. Occasionally, the direction would change, and the sand would twist around in beautiful, deadly patterns that vanished in an instant, blown apart as new ones moved to take their place. Stretching as far as the eye could see in every direction, the landscape was dotted with colossal sand tornadoes, great funnels of dust that twisted, almost lazily, up to the roof of the world, the pillar like structures steadily moving across the land, sucking up more cargo as they travelled. As deadly and terrifying as the whole thing was, Cayden couldn't help but be entranced by what he saw, captivated by the beautiful dances of the shifting sand. Despite the circumstances, he felt honoured that he was able to experience this. There was little beauty in the Wasteland, and he had learnt to savour the small moments that he saw, regardless of whether or not it had the potential to kill him. The sight of the War Rig to his right forced him to push away the feelings. He could contemplate the sandstorm later, right now he had to make sure that both he and the Rig managed to survive the storm without being destroyed in the process.

A sudden crash snapped Cayden back to reality. Something had hit the back of his car, sending him jerking forward into the wheel. Whipping his head around, he spotted the second War Boy car, having managed to keep up despite the storm. From their position, it was clear that that was what had just slammed into him, attempting to take him out before moving onto the Rig. Cayden swore. Although the hit had only been minor, the suddenness of the impact the only reason he was struggling, it had been enough to send his car spinning, the War Boys hurrying past to reach their prize, and Cayden was forced to waste precious seconds halting the dizzying movement and pulling back in the direction the War Boys were headed. Their engine was no match for Cayden's powerful V8, however, and he was soon behind them, almost alongside the Rig's fuel pod. They were driving past one of the storm's many cyclones and, just before he readied himself to ram them, the Rig swerved to the left, catching the War Boy car and battering it aside, right into the twirling sand. Cayden watched with a sick sense of wonder as the metal creature was lifted into the air, twisting slowly with a handful of War Boys orbiting it, their screams swallowed by the wind, before the car's fuel, ignited during the bash into the twister, detonated and covered the entire spectacle in bright orange flames. A sense of sorrow made its way into Cayden's chest at the sight. The War Boys may have served Joe, may have happily done his evil bidding, but he just couldn't find it in himself to celebrate their destruction. He hated Joe, true, wanted him dead, no doubt about that, but the War Boys were just foot soldiers, slaves to Joe's twisted desires. He silently reached to the chain around his neck, on which hung a golden band that had once belonged to his mother, the last thing he had of his old life. Gripping it reverently between his fingers, he swore that he would free the War Boys from Joe's tyranny, no matter the cost. He would kill them if he had to, if they attacked him or others, but promised himself to break the shackles that bound them to that deranged monster. Snapping back to the situation, Cayden swerved, falling in line behind the Rig as the explosion sent debris flying. One piece, larger than the others and what remained of the engine, caught his car a second before he reached the shelter of the Rig's armoured body. It slammed into the hood, leaving a sizeable dent and a strange, rattling noise from the engine, before hurtling off into the sand. He quickly checked the car's instruments, as well as cast a glance over the vehicle's latest battle scar. No immediate damage, nothing to necessitate any serious danger, it could wait until later. He quickly revved the engine and pulled out from behind the Rig, moving forward, a little slower than he'd like, until he was alongside the colossal tanker, in clear view of Furiosa's wing mirror should she check. And on they drove.

The roar of an engine drew Cayden's attention to his left, where he saw a small, beaten car moving towards the Rig through the storm. At first, he couldn't see what it was, but, as it drew closer, he spotted the damaged wheel and broken poles attached to the front. It was the feral's War Boy car. Cayden ground his teeth together. These bastards just wouldn't give up. His eyes criss-crossed the vehicle, searching for the feral man that had been strapped to the front, until he found him, clinging to the back with everything he had, trying to take shelter from the blasting sands. Cayden watched the muzzled figure for a moment, and couldn't help but feel glad that he had survived. Despite the madness he had glimpsed in the feral's eyes, he could sense the same feelings of pain and loss that plagued Cayden himself, seeing the wild man as a fellow survivor, a remnant. Add to this the fact that the Immortan Joe himself feared the man enough to muzzle him, and Cayden could see how such a man might prove a useful ally in his plans. Provided one of them didn't end up killing the other first.

The car the feral clung to was still moving closer, and Cayden began to weigh up his options. He could slow down, leave the protection the War Rig provided, and go deal with the pest, or stay where he was and wait for the War Boy to make the first move. Neither options were very appealing, and Cayden was starting to regret tossing his shotgun away, as he couldn't reach it and focus on the situation simultaneously. He gripped the wheel tighter. He would have to wait for the War Boy. Dropping out from the Rig ran the risk of losing it in the storm, a risk he wasn't willing to take. He watched as the car disappeared behind the Rig, hoping to whatever higher power existed that it would move ahead of the Rig, somewhere he might be able to do something. Sure enough, the small car reappeared ahead of the Rig, staying just out of reach of the behemoth's ram. Cayden's eyes were glued to the vehicle, watching for any sign of trouble. Just as he began to feel like nothing would happen, a flash of red light caught his eye. The War Boy inside must have lit a flare, which could only mean one thing. He'd filled the car with fuel and intended to detonate it, taking Furiosa with him. He saw the feral thrust his arm through the shattered remains of the back window, reaching inside to, presumably, attempt to wrestle the flare from the suicidal War Boy's grasp. This struggle only lasted a few seconds, but it was long enough for Furiosa. The War Rig put on a burst of speed, smashing into the War Boy and sending both men and machine hurtling into the air. Cayden managed to avoid the car's scattered remains this time, instead watching as the metal beetle went twisting through the air, being swallowed by the swirling sand before he saw it hit the ground. He doubted either of the car's occupants survived, but pushed the thought from his mind. He still needed to escape the storm, he could wonder about the fate of the feral another time.

Cayden trailed the War Rig through the sandstorm for what felt like hours, the ever-present whine of the damaged engine grating on his nerves. Slowly, the Rig began to pull ahead, the car unable to keep up the rigorous speed Cayden was subjecting it to. His eyes clung on to the shape of the metal monster, gradually becoming more and more hazy, until it disappeared into the shadowed desert ahead, leaving him alone in the howling storm. Eventually the storm began to lessen in its ferocity, with man and machine finally emerging on the other side, the great dust cloud moving on to its next prey. Cayden kept driving for a while after being released, searching for the Rig, until the car's pained noises could no longer be ignored. Trundling to a stop, he reached behind him and grabbed a bag of tools, as well as his shotgun, sliding the faithful companion back into its home at his hip. Exiting the vehicle, he walked to the front of it to examine the damage, pulling out the odd spike that still remained. The bent metal of the hood was a less than promising sign, and it took him a few moments to open it up, arms straining under the increased effort it took. The engine itself, when he finally got a look, was hardly in a better state. Wires were unattached or broken, pistons were loosened and pipes twisted in the wrong direction. Honestly Cayden was amazed the car had lasted this long, quickly getting to work. It took far too many minutes for the repairs to be made, with some of the damage being too extensive for him to perform at the time. He punched the metal of the hood back into place, grateful for a means to let out some of his pent-up anger, and closed it. Reaching back into the car for his binoculars, Cayden brought them to his face and scanned the horizon, trying to ascertain any clue as to where the Rig was. His eyes locked on to a dark outline in the distance, barely there but just visible. It was the only anomaly he could find, so had little choice in the matter. Thinking quickly, he turned to examine the direction he had just come from, looking to see if any other vehicle had followed him. Thankfully, there was no sign of the War Party, having presumably been held up by the storm. Tossing his equipment back into the car, Cayden started the engine, which sounded much less like a dying beast this time, and headed forward, wheels rolling across the sand as he journeyed onward, towards his mission.


	7. Chapter 5

Cayden drove across the desert, steadily growing closer and closer to the tiny outline in the distance. It had shifted from barely a speck on the horizon to a more distinct, though still hazy, dark shape, increasing in size and detail with every passing second. As he closed the distance, wheels bouncing over the firm sand, Cayden began to consider what would happen when he finally reached the Rig, spending his time running through as many possible scenarios in his head as he could. It was, to put it bluntly, less than settling. The majority of them revolved around Furiosa killing him and taking his supplies, an outcome Cayden knew to be incredibly, depressing possible. In the Wasteland, trust was something hard to earn and harder to give. The assistance he'd provided against the War Boys and Buzzards didn't matter. Furiosa had no reason to even listen to him, let alone accept the aid of a random stranger, offering for seemingly no reason. Cayden came to the conclusion that, when he reached the Rig, he would have to face the possibility of reliving his past, in order to garner a successful outcome. The only way to get her to accept his help was through total honesty about his motivation, no matter the pain it would cause. Taking a deep breath, he resolved himself to the inevitable. He would do whatever it took, provided he wasn't shot within the first five seconds.

By this time the car was close to drawing up alongside the stationary War Rig, Cayden's thoughts having absorbed him enough to not notice the fast dwindling gap. Startled out of his contemplation at this realisation, he began to slow his vehicle, taking in the detail and, more importantly, size of the Rig. Having been focused on other matters before, Cayden had never truly taken the time to admire this marvel of machinery. It truly was colossal, over five times his car's length and over twice his own height. He could definitely see how such a vehicle had been gained the reputation to be known as the flagship of Joe's armada: it looked to have been kitted out to take on the entirety of the Wasteland by itself. Covered from engine to exhaust in armour and spikes, it was a fearsome sight, the jagged razors coating the hubcaps making Cayden fear about the damage it could cause his car with just a single swipe. His eyes roamed over it, from the guard and lookout positions overlooking the great sphere of the fuel pod, over the walkway and empty Thunderpoon racks of the tanker, all the way to the large cabin at the head of the whole contraption. He could see the broken and twisted metal from where the Buzzard saw had bitten into it, as well as the innumerable pockmarks of bullets that coated the whole thing. Lastly, his eyes went down to the very front of the monstrosity, where, jutting proudly from the hood, two giant V8 engines rested, glinting in the son and putting his own motor to shame. All in all, this Rig was one bad-ass ride, a titan of the Wasteland and one very few would willingly take on. Despite the flaming skull symbols that littered the metalwork, Cayden could feel himself almost falling in love with the thing, never having seen a vehicle that commanded such a presence. As his car finally pulled up alongside the beautiful beast, Cayden succeeded in wrenching his eyes off the great engine at its fore, focusing instead on the small, rag-tag group clustered beside it.

The second he saw the group, Cayden knew that his earlier assumptions had massively underestimated Furiosa's plan and hatred of Joe. Whereas he had thought that there was only one of Joe's Wives being smuggled out of the Citadel, there were five women, aside from Furiosa, standing next to the Rig, all of them dressed in white clothing, sticking out like a sore thumb in the Wasteland's barren brown and yellow. The Imperator, to Cayden's delight and utter respect, had succeeded in freeing all of Joe's most prized breeders, with Cayden's quick scan of the group telling him that their reputation, while well earned, paled in comparison to seeing them in the flesh. The women were undeniably, impossibly beautiful, looking like angels who had descended into Hell. In the few seconds he still had before suspicion could surpass curiosity for the Imperator, Cayden paid each of the Wives, none of whom looked to be older than him, a deeper amount of attention, taking them in. The one in the centre was most certainly the leader. She was the tallest of the group and seemingly the oldest, looking to be about his age, with blond hair and a well-defined face, fixed into a hard look. Cayden's eyes couldn't help but lower to the large pregnant bulge of her belly, and he let out a sigh. Being forced to carry around the spawn of that madman was not a punishment he would wish on anybody. To her right, gripping her arm in an iron fist, was a much younger girl, looking to be the youngest of the group, with jet black hair and a thin, almost waif-like figure. She looked, in a word, terrified, half hiding behind another woman, whose arm she held in a similarly tight grip. This wife was a pale blonde with a dazed, dreamy expression on her face, looking at Cayden with eyes that seemed too old for such a young person, especially one as sheltered as this, kept safe from the fires of the Wasteland. To the left of the leader was a woman with fiery red hair who, despite her position of slight shelter, looked on with more curiosity than fear. Lastly, Cayden's eyes landed on the final figure of the group, and he felt his breath catch slightly as he took her in. She was, in a word, exquisite. The shortest of the group, with short brown hair and dark eyes, she looked to Cayden like an exotic goddess, one he couldn't look away from. Following her eyes, he could see how, instead of trying to see him behind the windshield, she was looking at his car with an appreciative gaze, and he chuckled to himself. At least she had good taste. All of the Wives shared a look that was laced with fear, clear on their faces, ranging from clear as day to barely evident, and he knew he would have to remove these looks if they were ever going to trust him, or at least accept his services. Realising his time was up, seeing the look on Furiosa's face shift into one he had seen on those about to fight, Cayden surreptitiously reached under the dashboard, flicking a number of switches and priming the car's booby trap. Better safe than sorry, he thought to himself. Finding comfort in the knowledge that his car, his _home_ , was protected, he reached for the door handle, pushing it open and stepping out slowly into the Wasteland's hot sand.

The feel of the sun on her face, with a cool breeze blowing through her hair, felt magnificent to Toast. Having been huddled up in the Rig's hidden compartment for hours on end, confined and barely able to breath, the sudden freedom sent her head spinning. Toast could barely remember the last time she had felt so free. It was while she still lived in the Wasteland, moving from place to place with her tribe, her _family_. They had passed too close to the Citadel, a foolish mistake and their last. She could still see them when she closed her eyes, being butchered by War Boys whilst she survived, imprisoned inside the Vault of Immortan Joe. What she had gone through in there, what she and the other Wives had been forced to endure, Toast never wanted to think of again, the very idea of it making her feel sick. She was alive, she was with friends, and she was _free_. She still couldn't quite comprehend the escape. It had been days, weeks in the making, and was riddled with the risk of capture, setting the teeth of all the Wives on edge throughout the entire thing. Toast pushed those thoughts out of her mind. It was over, she was free of the Citadel and that was all that mattered. She reached up to the sky and stretched, her muscles losing the stress they'd built up over the past day.

The rumble of an engine caught her attention. It wasn't coming from the Rig, and it was far too quiet for that monster of engineering anyway. She turned to locate the noise. There in the distance, close to the way they had come, Toast could see the outline of a car. It was too small to see if it was War Boys yet, but Toast felt her blood run cold with fear. What if it was a War Boy? What if Joe caught up with them here? She couldn't bear the thought of being taken back to the Citadel, to the life she had run from, and a glance to the other Wives showed they shared the same feeling of dread. One by one, each of the women turned to Furiosa, eyes searching for a sign as to what happened next. Strangely, however, the Imperator didn't move. Toast's eyes, searching for the next move, found only a look of anticipation mixed with curiosity. Surprised at the lack of movement from the warrior, she turned back to look at the car. It was closer now, and Toast could clearly see that it wasn't War Boys, no skeletal figures clambering over the framework. Toast just about heard Angharad's whispered 'We're not going back', and glanced at the other Wives, her friends, her sisters, finding an identical resolve on their faces, despite the fear coursing through them. No matter what came next, they would not be going back with Joe. And so they waited.

The seconds seemed to stretch into minutes, minutes into hours, until eventually the dark car reached the Rig. As it stopped, Toast took in the vehicle. It was old, that much was clear. The black paint that covered it was flaking, flashes of metallic silver visible at the edges of the body. Long and lean, with metal bars attached to it as armour and a large V8 engine sticking out of the hood, she had to admit that it was a beautiful ride. The damage done to it was no surprise, they did exist in a world where the only choice was fight or die after all, but Toast was astonished at the sheer extent of battle scars. The whole thing looked to have been through Hell, metal dented and pockmarked with the windshield cracking in places. She saw the twisted metal of the hood, clearly a recent repair if her memories of before the Citadel served, and it was clear that the car, not to mention its driver, was a veteran of many fights. She couldn't see the driver, the car's interior being too dark, but she could see a vague outline. She waited for something to happen, seconds beginning to stretch once again. After what felt like an age, the outline shifted, opening the door and stepping out into the harsh sunlight.

The first thing she noticed about the figure was that it was tall. It looked to be roughly as tall as Furiosa or Agnharad, with long limbs and a lean build. Its face was covered by a balaclava and tinted goggles, with the hood of the figure's jacket hiding the top of its head. Despite this, Toast still got a lot from the clothing it wore. A battered leather jacket covered its torso, the original black colouring still showing through, littered with patches, stitches and scorch marks. It had clearly been through a lot of punishment, just like the car. Black combat pants covered the figure's legs, and a lump formed in the back of Toast's throat when she saw the shotgun that was strapped to its left hip. Fighting the feeling of fear it inspired, she quickly moved on. Combat boots were wrapped around its feet, the toes capped in dull and dented metal, having obviously seen heavy action. At the end of the figure's arms, a set of fingerless gloves encased its hands, fingers long and slender. Toast spotted a gap, and noticed that the figure's right ring finger was partially gone, the stump wrapped in dirtied bandage. Just from the figure's clothing, Toast could clearly see that it was a fighter, the battered and repaired outfit definitive signs of a hardened road warrior. This thought just made her more anxious. What would such a person be doing following them? What was it they wanted? Questions like these flitted through Toast's mind, making her desperate for the answer to at least some of them. Was this person, whoever they were, her to help or not? And, more importantly, what had they done to merit Furiosa's lack of a violent response?

Just as Toast came close to being wrapped up in her thoughts, the figure moved. Toast jumped back, as did the other Wives, while Furiosa merely gripped the pistol she held in her hand. The figure raised its arm, palm opened outwards, while slowly tugging the shotgun from its holster. It held the weapon for the briefest of seconds before tossing it forwards, sending it rolling in the dust to stop at Furiosa's feet. The Imperator, as well as the Wives, looked at the item in astonishment. The figure was placing an enormous amount of trust in the group, surrendering its weapon like that. Toast saw Furiosa's grip on her gun lessen slightly as she examined the metal item at her feet, before looking up to examine the figure.

"Who are you?" she asked, voice like a gunshot in the silence as she stepped forward, coming to a halt in front of the Wives, shielding them slightly.

"A friend" came back after a pause. The voice was deep and slightly gravelly, seemingly not having been used in a while. Furiosa's eyes widened slightly at the statement, but quickly returned to their original glare.

"Why did you help us?" she asked, a question that was swimming through Toast's head as well. Instead on words, the figure answered by raising its arm, gesturing to the Wives that had slowly moved closer together. This did nothing to appease the Imperator, her furious look and tightened grip making even Toast feel a deep sense of apprehension.

"How do I know we can trust you?" she asked, the question laced with venom and barely contained anger, focused on this stranger who had appeared from the sands with an offer of support. Her senses were on high alert as she moved in front of the Wives fully, ready to protect them from this potential threat. A harsh sigh was released from the figure, and Toast watched as its arms were slowly raised up to its head. It flipped the hood back, revealing short brown hair, and pulled the balaclava down from its mouth. Finally, the goggles were pushed up to its forehead, and the six women were finally able to see their mysterious ally's face. He was young, that was the first thing Toast noticed, around Angharad's age, if not a bit older. His face was thin, made up of sharp edges and strong cheekbones, with his jaw covered with a stubbly layer of hair. He was handsome, Toast admitted, but his entire face was cold and empty, as though he had seen some terrible atrocity, and was looking at the world the way an outsider would. Even his eyes, a vibrant shade of dark green that made her feel slightly weak at the knee, were filled with a deep sadness and burning rage that seemed unnatural for someone so young. She snapped back to reality when he once again spoke, his voice clear and strong in the desert air.

"You don't," he stated, taking Furiosa by surprise with the admission, "but everyone deserves freedom. Besides", he added, with a ghost of a smirk, "any chance to bring suffering to Joe is a chance I will accept with open arms."

Furiosa eyed the young man, expression giving nothing away as her mind processed what he had said, and, for a brief moment, Toast thought that the Imperator was actually going to shoot the man. Slowly, the gun in Furiosa's had crept back into its holster and she stepped forward again, arm out in a gesture of acceptance that the man returned, the two gripping each other's forearms for a moment before dropping. Toast could barely repress a smile as she saw the man surreptitiously eye the large metal arm hanging from Furiosa's right arm, particularly lingering on the sharp claws. As Furiosa turned back to the Rig, Toast realised with a start that they had never got the man's name. Mentally shrugging, she came to the conclusion that it didn't matter. They had a new ally in their escape and, as Toast knew from past experience, allies were a rare thing in the Wasteland, especially trustworthy ones, with the help they now had already boosting their chance. Slowly but surely, they were getting closer to freedom.

Cayden followed Furiosa to her position beside the Rig, pausing for a moment to stoop and retrieve his gun. It had been a risky move, and he knew that, had he failed, he wouldn't have been fast enough to reach for the knife in his boot before being killed. Nevertheless, it had worked, a fact Cayden was immensely grateful for. He stopped next to Furiosa, who was opening up a hatch in the side of the Rig, through which he could just about see a section of the engine. Admiring what he was able to see of the contraption for a moment, he snapped back his attention as the Imperator turned, signalling him to follow with a small head movement. The pair walked around the front of the vehicle, Cayden looking on the great ram in awe and some fear for what it could do to his own ride, before they reached the other side of the engine. He leaned against the metal, waiting as Furiosa reached into the cabin and pulled out a handful of tools, tossing each one to Cayden who caught them effortlessly, a skill born from long years of practise. Throwing him the final implement, Furiosa closed the door and crouched down, gesturing to the underbelly of the Rig.

"She took a few knocks, need you to patch her up." she instructed, Cayden kneeling down to examine the damage. It looked to only be minor damage, nothing he couldn't handle.

"You got it." he grunted, already lowering himself beneath the beast. Furiosa's sudden grip on his arm made him stop and look at her, a confused expression on his face, masking the wince her strong fist inspired.

"You've offered your help and I've accepted. Fine. But I don't trust you. And I swear, if you do anything that even slightly threatens me or the others," she leaned in closer, her face never changing its calm look, even as her eyes burned hellfire into his skull, "I swear that I will make you beg for death when I'm done with you." She stood again, walking back around to re-join the Wives, leaving Cayden, half on his back, to consider her words. Recognising how deadly serious she was, as well as recognising her threat, he forced away the slight shiver of fear that had accompanied the words, and got to work. If she didn't trust him, then he'd better hurry up and give her a reason to.

Half an hour later, Cayden was dirty, sore and angry. The damage that had at first appeared light was in fact more extensive than he'd thought, and he had spent many a painful minute trying to repair engine parts that were always only just within reach. His face was covered with oil, his fingers were red and burnt and his back screamed from the twisted position he was in. Nevertheless, he refused to stop, determined to earn at least a fraction of Furiosa's trust through repairing the Rig. A light tap on his leg made him pause in his efforts, and he pulled himself out from under the Rig to see who had interrupted him. One of the Wives, the leader, stood above him, clutching a water flask in one hand. Cayden was forced to shield his eyes from the sun as he looked up at her, the look of curiosity on his face mixing with a pained scowl to form a slightly unnerving expression as he regarded the young woman. She stretched out her hand, offering him the flask.

"I thought you might be thirsty." she said as he took it, almost snatching it from her as he brought it to his lips. In truth, he was desperate for a drink, and the cool liquid on his tongue seemed to have come straight from Paradise. A few moments passed, the only sound being the slosh of water. Cayden eventually lowered the bottle, his thirst quenched.

"Thanks." he muttered, holding out the flask to hand it back. The woman shook her head, a smile touching her lips.

"You keep it, you might need it later. And it's really no problem. You're helping us, it's the least I could do." Cayden stared up at her for a second, amazed. Nowhere in the Wasteland would such a simple act of kindness occur, most survivors too focused on helping themselves instead of others. He slowly pocketed the flask, sitting up slightly to lean against the warm metal side of the Rig. He looked at the woman with curiosity, the scowl loosening on his brow.

"What's your name?" he asked. She, slowly, lowered herself to sit beside him, hands coming up to support her belly as she eased herself down.

"My name's Angharad." she replied, no hesitation in her voice. Cayden nodded his acceptance and watched as she tilted her head, eyes never leaving him. "Normally you're supposed to tell me your name when I tell you mine." she prompted softly after a few moments. Cayden, who had begun to doze off leaning against the warm, soothing metal, turned to look at her fully. His mind fought over what to do next. Should he tell her his name? He did want their trust, but he felt like this might be too far. Out of all the people he'd met in his life, most of those who knew his name were dead, it slowly having become a closely guarded secret over the years. Angharad kept watching him in this time, eventually letting out a soft sigh and beginning to rise from her spot. Seeing this, Cayden made his decision.

"My name's Cayden." he muttered, just loud enough for her to hear. She stopped her movement and looked down at him, before slowly sinking back down. She smiled at him, a soft tug of her lips that Cayden wasn't used to seeing from others. The sight, so full of life and happiness at his simple response, unnerved him slightly, and he moved quickly on, desperate to escape the feelings it unearthed in him.

"So, this escape of yours," he began, gesturing to the Rig in an attempt to include the other women on its other flank, "where do you plan to go?" The smile on Angharad's face never deteriorated for a second, somehow growing even larger at the mention of their freedom. As she opened her mouth to reply, Cayden leaned his head back against the Rig to listen. The sensations he felt, the sensations she had stirred in him, seeming so alien and terrifying at first, had begun to settle down into a warm glow in his chest, and he enjoyed the feeling. This was peace, he realised, a taste of peace. And he couldn't get enough of it.

Cayden spent many minutes sitting beside Angharad, listening as she told him of her life, the other wives, teaching him their names, although he paid a little more attention when it came to the one named 'Toast', about Furiosa and about the Citadel, how she had ended up there and what life was like in the rocky fortress. She held her belly when she spoke about the last subject, and her voice was much more subdued. Cayden couldn't blame her. After such a traumatic experience, he was willing to wait as long as she needed for her to get the painful memories off her chest. God knows he had plenty of those himself. She also told him of their plan to escape to 'the Green Place', a virtual paradise where the Imperator had first come from. Cayden listened to the plan and the tales of this place with fascination. A straightforward plan, relatively easy to accomplish, with the goal sounding like a godsend. A land of green in the desert, a place for freedom and life. He listened in silence, taking in every word until there were no more to come. After a moment of processing the new information he had acquired, he turned his gaze back to the pregnant woman.

"Thank you for sharing this with me, as well as the water." he said, careful to infuse his words with the sense of gratitude he truly felt at her gift, "But I think you should go back to the others now. They'll be wondering what's kept you and, besides, you must be eager to get _that_ ", he nodded at the metal belt she still wore around her waist, "off of you."

"You're right." Angharad agreed, easing herself up onto her legs. Cayden jumped up to help her, gaining a thankful look from the young woman. They regarded each other for a second, before the young road warrior lowered himself back onto the ground once more, preparing to continue his repairs. Angharad hovered for a moment, a small struggle being fought behind her eyes. Eventually, she came to a decision and moved back towards Cayden.

"What you said earlier, about being a friend," she began, and Cayden looked up at her in confusion, "did you mean it? Will you really help us get to the Green Place?"

Cayden thought his interaction with Furiosa, as well as his position in fixing the engine, had answered the question already, but he understood her meaning after a second. She wanted to know if he would stay, if he would protect them on their journey, or just disappear back into the sands. Looking up at the woman, he met her eye with a steady gaze, never wavering.

"I promise you that I will help you reach your freedom, no matter what. _All_ of you." He stated firmly, eyeing her bulging belly at the last bit. Angharad stared at him for a second more, before slowly smiling at him one last time and walking away, the sound of her footfalls swallowed by the desert and the massive Rig. Cayden watched her go, a small voice resounding in his head. He didn't know why he had made that promise, didn't know what force had compelled in to do so. Despite this, he knew he would keep it, would see it through to the very end. He had made a similar promise before, and he swore that, this time, he would not fail, would not be the reason for more innocent death. Settling this in his heart, he pushed himself back under the engine. There was still much to do, and they had a long journey ahead of them.

 **Hey guys, sorry about the delay, I will try to be more speedy with future updates (no promises though)**

 **This is my first attempt at writing dialogue, so sorry if it feels out of character or clunky, hopefully it'll get better with experience**

 **Thanks so much for the reviews and support, and I'll talk to you later**

 **TimeFury1347**


	8. Chapter 6

Cayden kept working on the engine of the Rig, using the skills he had honed over his time in the unforgiving Wasteland to slowly coax the great metal beast back to life, fingers dancing over pipes, screws and wires as he worked them back into their harmonious order. He could hear Furiosa and the Wives moving about on the other side of the body, muffled by the layers of metal but a pleasant constant nonetheless. He could hear the hum of their voices, the words lost to him, and felt their footfalls on the sand, feeling the barely-there vibrations travel up his back. When he twisted his head to look out from under the Rig's bulk, he could see their feet move about as they went to and fro, watch the ugly metal belts fall to the ground, foreshadowed by the click of heavy bolt cutters, and watch as water splashed to the sand from a hose attached to the tanker, the precious liquid being quickly swallowed up by the dying, perpetually thirsty earth. Letting these noises fall into the background of his consciousness, Cayden was jerked from his work when they suddenly stopped, only the spurt of water remaining. A new noise had accompanied this halt, the thud of something heavy hitting the ground, and Cayden twisted in his position to look out from under the Rig's underbelly, in an attempt to locate the source of this change. He could see the feet of the six women, five bare and one booted, all seemingly frozen in place, the splashing water now the only mobile thing. Cayden craned his head to look further down the Rig's length, eyes searching for the source of the shift. There, just at the edge of his field of vision, he could see… something. A large, dark object was sprawled on the ground, partially obscured by one of the Rig's heavily armoured wheels, and Cayden squinted to try and ascertain any details from it. It must have been the source of the thud, with its position in the sand suggesting that it was a person. He was it was wearing a dark leather jacket, not much unlike his own, that prevented him from seeing the figure beneath it. Just then, Cayden's eyes caught on something sticking out of the dark mass, and he felt his heart beat increase. The bone white colour of the extremity, looking to be an arm, denoted it as a War Boy. A War Boy had caught up with them. Cayden, mindful of the danger, cursed his luck in his head. Where one of Joe's battle fodder was, the swarm was never far behind. Slowly, careful not to draw any attention to himself, he pulled his body out from under the belly of the Rig, pulling himself up onto the abandoned side of the vehicle. He carefully moved along to the rear of the tanker, stopping behind the large fuel pod. Lowering his hand to his boot, he slowly eased out his heavy combat knife, unwilling to run the risk of accidentally hitting one of his allies with a stray shotgun blast. Gripping the trusty steel in his gloved hand, Cayden shifted himself around the metal sphere, using his hidden spot to take in the standoff going down beside the metal monster.

He could see the six women by the front of the Rig, five displaying varying expressions of fear, while Furiosa merely looked calm and collected, moving from next to the massive twin engines to stand marginally ahead of the young girls, adopting a more defensive stance. Cayden could just about see the steel in her eyes, and gave an involuntary shudder at the icy feeling that passed down his spine. Despite the horrors he had seen in his years of traversing the dusty Wasteland, the near-murderous glint in the Imperator's eyes scared him more than anything ever had, and he was glad that he wasn't the receiving end. Cayden let his eyes drift past her and onto the Wives, still looking like otherworldly beauties in the desert hellscape, the fearful expressions etched on their faces making them seem so defenceless. He couldn't help but feel sorry for them. They had just escaped from a life of slavery and terror, only to be thrust into a world they weren't at all prepared for. They deserved better than that. Letting the feeling of righteous anger settle in his chest, Cayden quickly finished his assessment. The hideous belts were all discarded on the ground, and each of the Wives was dripping water, clearly having been in the process of washing the remnants of the Citadel off, a sentiment he could fully understand. His lips twitched upwards when he laid eyes on Angharad, standing tall and strong regardless of the threat. The others all seemed so frail by comparison, and Cayden could feel his blood boiling at the thought of this stranger threatening his charges, as he had come to view them when talking to Angharad. Finally finishing his worrying glance over the statuesque women, he turned his gaze onto the new and unwelcome presence.

He could see the War Boy more clearly now, and narrowed his eyes as they passed over its pale flesh. It was clearly unconscious, the sprawled position and painful noise that had accompanied its arrival showing Cayden how there was no act on the part of the skeletal figure, wrapped up in battered leather. His eyes quickly took notice of the chain that connected it to the hulking man standing next to it, and followed the metal links to their end. Cayden could only see the figure's back, but quickly took note of what he could identify. The stance, ready for a fight, clearly denoted it as a warrior, the stocky build making it seem like a brawler. Frayed shirt, dusty trousers and heavy boots, all typical Wastelander clothing. The raised arm suggested it was holding a gun, and Cayden silently readied himself. If there was to be a fight, he would have to be fast. Finally, his eyes landed on the back of the figure's head. The chain that connected it to the War Boy led up there, fastened to a series of straps all held in place by an old padlock. Cayden's eyes latched on to the thin trail of red that wound through the metal links of the chain, and his eyes widened. That crimson tube left only one possible answer: the man was a bloodbag, lashed to the War Boy and forced to sacrifice his own life to preserve Joe's servants of madness. Cayden's mind flashed through all he had learnt, piecing together the puzzle, and he mentally slapped himself. The clothes, the mask, even the bloody War Boy. This was the feral man he had seen strapped to one of the War Boy cars before the storm, evidently having survived the Rig's devastating ram. Despite this sudden revelation, Cayden refused to let himself relax. The feral might not serve Joe, might hate him as much as Cayden or Furiosa did, but he was still dangerous and was threatening his new allies. Resisting the urge to sneak up and slice the feral's throat open, Cayden stayed where he was, waiting for something to happen, waiting for his moment to strike.

The feral grunted, a deep guttural noise that sounded closer to a growl, and waved the gun in its hand. Cayden followed the direction of the barrel, the dull metal glinting in the harsh sun, and saw that it was trained on Angharad, who held the, now shut off, water hose, still releasing drops of the precious liquid every few seconds. The anger in his heart reached a fever pitch as he saw her fearful glance with the other women, before she slowly started to walk towards the feral. The water had dampened her clothing, and Cayden could clearly see her swollen belly through the clinging fabric. This only served to add further fuel to his rage, a sudden surge of protectiveness threatening to pull Cayden from his hiding place and defend his friend from harm. Clenching his teeth so hard his jaw ached, Cayden looked on as Angharad held out the tube for the feral, who wrenched it away with a vicious savagery he'd never seen before, not even from a War Boy. With the shotgun trained on her head, Angharad slowly turned around the face the still frozen Wives, the weapon making her a shield from attack, even for Cayden, as he doubted he would be able to overpower the crazed man before he pulled the trigger. Instead, he was forced to huddle behind the pod's massive wheel, watching as a the feral twisted the hose and sprayed it directly onto his face, presumably gulping down as much of the lifegiving fluid as he could. Cayden's eyes wandered to the other women, who were still frozen by the front of the Rig, before trailing down to the figure of the War Boy by the feral's feet. He saw the splashes of water that clapped down on the crumpled body, and kept one eye trained there, checking for movement. If the War Boy was even still alive, the cold slap of the water could have woken him up, potentially making the already tense scenario spark off into an all-out fight, an eventuality Cayden prayed wouldn't occur. It wasn't his own abilities he doubted, nor those of Furiosa. It was the safety of the Wives he feared for. They were defenceless, and Cayden had promised to protect them, a promise that, if the worst came to pass, he wasn't entirely sure he'd be able to fulfil. Clenching his fingers together until they threatened to crack, he pushed the thought from his mind. He had broken enough promises in the past, he wasn't going to break another.

The feral finally turned off the hose, ending the shining waterfall, and tossed it to the ground. Cayden watched as the figure once again gestured with its gun, this time pointing towards the dreamy eyed girl, the Dag he remembered, who held the large set of bolt cutters. The girl slowly approached, gripping the metal instrument tightly in her small hands, tools that had, mere minutes previously, freed the Wives from Joe's control. Cayden's eyes followed her path, watching her slow trek forward whilst constantly searching for an opportunity to strike. Finally reaching the pair, the Dag raised the bolt cutters, positioning them on the chain that the feral had pulled taut away from his head, the chain that connected him to the War Boy, and the only thing that kept him from killing every single one of them. As the Dag began to pull the two handles together, Cayden couldn't help but feel sorry for the young Wife. She was such a small thing and, while the equipment alone looked heavy, the threat presented by the feral's gun surely wasn't helping her to summon any hidden reserves of strength. As he watched, the Dag's eyes slowly moved over to his position and locked onto his own, almost as if she had sensed him there. The look in her eyes, confusion laced with fear, made Cayden's heart drop in his chest, and he moved his finger up to his lip, gesturing her not to give him away while trying to fill his eyes with as much reassurance as he could muster, which wasn't a lot given his thoughts, in order to help the frightened girl. Whether due to this or simply the fact that he was there at all, the Dag's eyes lost some of their fear and began to move again. Seeing her gaze latch onto a new target, Cayden turned his head to see what she did, regretting it almost instantly. There, like a mirage on the horizon, were the shapes of Joe's War Party, the dark outlines of cars stretching across the earth. They were getting closer, and Cayden knew that something needed to happen soon if the Wives stood any chance of freedom. Turning his gaze back to the Rig once more, he saw Angharad looking at the new image in the distance, eyes slowly filling with panic. By some miracle, Cayden managed to catch her eye, trying to present the same calming look he had done for the Dag. As he did so, the feral's head moved, turning slightly as the pale blonde woman tried furiously to break the chain, and Cayden's mind kicked into gear. He was distracted. This was his chance. Sparing a quick glance towards Furiosa, he saw that the one-armed warrior had arrived at the same conclusion, and the pair leapt forward, falling on the crazed creature that stood between them.

As Furiosa moved, Cayden charged up behind the feral, his speed compensating for the loss of his anonymity. Twisting the knife in his hand as he ran, he slammed the hilt into the back of the feral's head, hoping to disorient the man while he wrenched the gun, which Cayden could see was a rusting sawn-off shotgun, from the feral's now loosened grip. Grabbing the weapon and spinning off to the side, Cayden narrowly avoided being sent sprawling by Furiosa, the Imperator having wrapped her one arm around the feral and lifted him into the air, a feat the green-eyed warrior had to commend for strength, if not pure savagery. Watching the woman slam the, now very disoriented, feral man down into the sand, Cayden moved to her side, holding the shotgun by the barrel and extending the grip towards Furiosa. Deep down, he didn't truly want to kill the man, but knew that the Imperator's blood was up, and that it was either follow or else. The gun wrenched from his hand, Cayden forced himself to watch as the barrel was shoved under the feral's chin. He was allowing him to die, the least he could do was not turn away. Furiosa squeezed the trigger, the sharp click resonating in the air. But there was no deafening boom, no shot. Looking into the feral's eyes, Cayden knew things had just gotten worse. The feral was alive, the disorientation clear from his face, only to be replaced by something far more primal. He was angry.

Realising that the gun was empty, Furiosa attempted to use it as a club, pulling back to bludgeon the feral. She swung, but the wild man caught her wrist, gripping it tightly and wrenching the gun from the Imperator's fist. They spun around, the feral now atop the prone woman, and Cayden attempted to make another swing with his knife, the metal blade ready to hew flesh and bone. He'd been holding back before, but now Cayden knew that it was no longer an option. The feral was fighting back, and he had seen the look in the muzzled man's eyes. He was completely mad, and Cayden knew that, if he held back, he would be killed, as would Furiosa and the Wives. These thoughts powered his arm, but he was too slow. An inch from impact, the feral swung the gun in its hand around, the metal barrel slamming into Cayden's head and sending him reeling. He hit the ground hard, the taste of iron in his mouth and the warm sensation of blood trickling down from a gash in his head. Sitting up once his ears stopped ringing, Cayden shook his head, fighting to rid himself of the dizziness that accompanied the blow, and saw the scene before him. Furiosa was free, the feral having been pulled off by the chain still attached to its head. Cayden watched as all five of the Wives heaved on it, Angharad at the front of the group trying to dodge the wild clawing of the feral, who had turned to tackle this new challenge. The promise he'd made to the pregnant woman flashed in his mind, and Cayden charged forward, his knife left abandoned in the sand and his rage flowing. He hurled himself at the feral, kicking him in the gut before falling on the man, his fists swinging wildly at whatever they could find. Chest, head, muzzle, the blows kept falling, the growing blood on his hands, a mixture of the two warriors, failing to register in his fury. This fury, grown from over a decade of pain and loss, proved to be his undoing, with his swings growing wide and providing the feral with an opening. A fist connected with Cayden's ribs, and he grunted painfully, the air forced out of his lungs, before a powerful punch to his jaw saw him tumbling into the sand once again. Cayden fought to control his anger. It was consuming him, messing with his instincts and, at the moment, was liable to get him killed. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, ignoring the searing pain in his chest, Cayden rolled over onto his back and rose up, watching and waiting as the fight progressed.

Furiosa was living up to her name. She had gotten hold of the bolt cutters the Dag had tried to use and was viciously swinging them at the feral, who quickly grabbed hold of the car door that was fastened around the still intact chain. Cayden watched, his vision blurry, as the cutters were repeatedly deflected by the flimsy shield, the heavy thuds ringing through the air, until they were eventually caught, sunk deep into the metal surface. Neither combatant moved for a second, the stalemate broken by the feral slamming the door into Furiosa's chin, sending the one-armed warrior sprawling. Cayden, his vision clearing with every passing second, scanned the area, looking for a way to attack, when he saw something shift. The War Boy was waking up. He'd been dragged across the sand throughout the fight, with the noise and course sand obviously having finally roused him from his unconsciousness. Cayden's attention, however, was quickly torn away, as Furiosa started to move towards the Rig. Knowing the nature of the War Boys, there were probably hidden weapon caches all over the metal monolith, and Cayden understood the Imperator's necessity. The feral was vicious, and any weapons the warrior woman had at the beginning of the skirmish were now gone. Besides, with only one arm, her metal prosthesis presumably in the Rig's cabin, she needed all the advantages she could get, and so, while the Imperator moved, Cayden began to follow, with the intention of buying her more time to equip herself.

Cayden's movements were sluggish, the damage he had taken from the feral still affecting him. His head throbbed painfully, his vision was still hazy, despite its improvement, and he could feel the warmth of the blood running down from the gash in his temple. He had to focus on his footsteps to prevent collapsing into the sand again, with each footfall sending a wave of dizziness through him. He kept his eyes on the scene ahead of him, the battering he'd received doing nothing to dull his tactical mind. His slow movement meant that he was unable to prevent the feral from tripping the Imperator over with the chain that connected it to the slowly rousing War Boy, with Cayden only able to watch as she continued to stagger forwards, heading straight for the weapon he knew was hidden close by. However, this enforced trudge meant that, as far as he was aware, the feral hadn't noticed his approach. He slowly crept up behind the crazed man, who was beginning to rise from the sand to go after Furiosa. Before he had a chance to, Cayden, using every last drop of strength he could summon, jumped onto him. One arm wrapped around the feral's throat, whilst the other hammered into the side of the man's head, both limbs working to incapacitate the man and so end the fight. Cayden's arms toiled as hard as they could, muscles tightening and knuckles bruising. The strong leather of his gloves had finally given way, and blood seeped down his fingers from the splits in the skin. Cayden's entire body, battered and exhausted, screamed out for mercy, and yet he hung on still, cutting off the feral's airway and smashing into its brow, trying to eliminate it quickly. And, for a time, this seemed to be working. The feral, taken by surprise, was much more vulnerable than it had been previously, fighting hard to catch up with the sudden onslaught. Its hands clawed at Cayden's arms, fingers scrabbling against the rough leather of his jacket and, slowly, very slowly, starting to weaken. Cayden felt a grin form on his face, teeth turning red from the blood in his mouth. Just a few more moments, a little more pressure, and the fight would be as good as over. The thought had barely run through his head, however, when something threw the fragile balance, the close end of the fight suddenly seeming so far away.

The War Boy, now completely awake, had chosen to go after Furiosa, in an attempt to claim her weapon and help the feral in the fight. As he lunged the Imperator, the chain that still connected the strange duo had been pulled taut. This had the effect of jerking Cayden and the trapped feral forward into the dust, the two having been so wrapped up in their struggle to notice the new fight. Cayden himself had landed on his back, the chain smacking him in the face when it snapped up, and the feral took full advantage of this. Before he had a chance to regain his bearings, Cayden felt the full force of a crazy and very angry road warrior crash down onto him, its strength replenished by some unknown source and now possessing the advantage. Pain erupted all over his body as the muzzled man's fists and elbows began to brutally maul him, jabbing and punching at any part of Cayden they could find. With the pain mounting, he desperately reached for his hip, struggling to draw the shotgun (he had forgotten its presence in the chaos) mounted there. While killing the man still wasn't the desired option, Cayden knew that any other possibilities had been completely nullified by that point, his limbs too weak to try and mount a resistance. However, even this move was doomed to failure, as the feral, its eyes catching a glimpse of this newly-discovered weapon, grabbed at it, forcing it from Cayden's grip before he even had a chance to raise it. This action, however, had the fortunate result of snapping open the tubes, sending the shells tucked inside flying into the air, scattered across the sand and, fortunately for Cayden, out of the feral's immediate reach. This setback didn't do anything to calm the crazed man's bloodlust though, resorting instead to using the device as a club, smashing it repeatedly against his prey's head. Struggling to keep his eyes open, Cayden frantically twisted his head, crying out at the painful movement. He had to make sure the Wives were still safe, or as safe as they could be at the moment. They were, thankfully, all there, all uninjured, all sharing the same expression of helplessness. He desperately wanted to reach out to them, to comfort them, but the fast enclosing darkness made it impossible. At the last second, his eyes caught those of Toast, and they stared at each other, Cayden trying to reassure her through the gaze. The image of her face never left his mind, even as the shadows began to envelop his vision. The battering of the feral subsided, and Cayden felt himself fall back into the abyss, slowly sinking into the embrace of blissful nothingness.

 **Hey guys!**

 **Sorry about the long wait, but there was so much, and still is so much, I have to do for the exams I have coming up.**

 **This chapter was kind of rushed in the final stages, so please do tell me if I made any mistakes, and the same for any other chapters. I really want this to be the best it can, so your help would really be appreciated.**

 **I know that Cayden might seem a bit out of character from when I first started this, but one of his characteristics is that he can get attached quite quickly. This will be important later on, but I might try to upload a sort of bio of him for helping understand. If you think this would be useful, again, please let me know.**

 **Anyway, hope you enjoyed the chapter, and I'll see you all next time**

 **TimeFury1347**


	9. Chapter 7

_Shadows surrounded him, swirling like columns of smoke through the sky, engulfing him completely in their inky black depths. Cayden moved through the dark land, his footfalls making no noise, his heartbeat like a drum in his head. As he walked, the shadows began to solidify, pillars turning into bodies, arms, heads. Eyes stared blankly out of hollow faces, and Cayden could barely stand to look at them, although their faces were burned into his mind. He began to run forwards, trying to escape the ghostly apparitions. But no matter where he ran, no matter how fast his legs pushed him, the faces never left. Cayden saw snatches of them as he raced on. An old man, scraggly white beard snaking down to his chest. A young man and woman, clinging to each other with broken limbs. A young girl, staring up at him, blood leaking from cuts and holes across her body. All of these, and more, pursued him, blending into a stream of lost souls, calling out to him, begging for help, asking where he had gone. Cayden didn't know how long he ran, if it was minutes, hours, even days. As he finally stopped, dropping to his knees, the corporeal figures slowly disappeared one by one, until there was only a single, solitary figure standing before him. He slowly raised his head, and his eyes widened. His body refused to respond to the desperate pleas of his mind, and all he could do was stare. A young woman stood before him, dressed in white robes stained red. He hair, once golden blond, was caked in red, trailing down her back and dripping crimson droplets. Her stomach was swollen, but a hideous scar seemed to cut it in half, the lump covered in crevasses and crags. And her face. Her eyes, once so bright and full of life, were now blank and empty, the tracks of tears dividing her face. Her mouth opened, and the words flowed over Cayden, wrapping around him and tightening, almost suffocating him._

 _"You promised to help us. You promised me."_

Cayden's eyes snapped open, the memory if his nightmare still lingering in his mind. He could feel the sun on his body, but his head was in shadows. Blinking back the tears he hadn't realised were there, Cayden focused on the shape in front of him. Dark golden skin, short dark hair, dark brown eyes filled with care and worry. He laid on the ground as Toast looked down on him, her surprise at his rapid revival quickly replaced by concern. Her eyes moved up his head, where Cayden knew he had a substantial head wound, although the blood had stopped leaking out.

"What happened?" he managed to croak out, the slurred words a mixture of exhaustion and the pain of his injuries catching up with him. Toast, seemingly shocked at his words, or the fact that he could still speak, took a few moments to form a reply.

"You took one hell of a beating." She said, her hands moving from his head to his torso and arms, searching for damage. Cayden winced as she pressed on a particularly sensitive part of his chest, and she grimaced. "Sorry." she muttered apologetically, although her hands kept roaming. After another minute of examination, with further winces and groans forcing themselves from Cayden's throat, Toast sat back. "There doesn't seem to be anything broken, just a lot of bruises." She nodded at his hands. "Your knuckles were pretty messed up, but they should be fine." Cayden moved his hands in front of his face, ignoring the fatigue and dull pain the movement brought. His gloves were gone, the dark leather replaced by white rags wrapped around his fists. He glanced at Toast and saw how she had torn off part of the edge of her white skirt for the material. Lips pulled tightly to prevent yet another pained noise escaping, he pulled himself into a sitting position and glanced at the young Wife, trying to form words that didn't seem to want to leave his lips.

"Thank you." He finally forced out. The two words seemed so insubstantial, but Toast smiled nonetheless, eyes brightening at the thanks. Cayden began to pull himself into a standing position, with Toast moving forwards and doing her best to support some of his weight. Rising shakily to his feet, he looked around at the scene by the Rig, so different from what it had been before.

The fight was over, Cayden knew that much. Furiosa was lying on the ground, groaning slightly as the other women helped her rise, although Angharad was nowhere to be seen. The War Boy, who had just woken up when Cayden had seen him last, was back in the sand again, out cold, the only difference being the lack of a jacket and the now broken chain. The road warrior cursed under his breath. The feral was free. But the question remained: where was he? The query was answered after little more than a second by the roar of the Rig's engines kicking into gear. Cayden turned his head and saw the tanker start to move across the sand. The feral must have taken it, abandoning the women to their fate. Turning to watch its progress, Cayden finally found Angharad. She was standing a little way away from the group, staring at the Rig as it pulled away. Her lips were moving, yet the words being said were too soft to hear. Looking down, he saw a slight trickle of red run down her leg, and shifted his body until he could see better. A dark line, looking to have come from a bullet, was drawn across her flesh, just below her knee, blood slowly beginning to seep out. His mind quickly filled with worry and anger, until he realised that the woman didn't seem to have noticed the damage. He slowly moved the protective urges to the back of his mind, for the time being, and focused his attention back on the current situation. He wanted to go over and check on her anyway, but recognised the more important issue of what was going to happen next, with the loss of the Rig. Besides, his continued reliance on Toast for support indicated how he'd probably collapse before he reached the pregnant woman. On the matter of the Rig, however, Cayden truly had no idea what to do. They couldn't stay where they were, that was for certain. They couldn't escape on foot and, as spacious as it was, he doubted they'd all be able to fit into his own car. Glancing at Furiosa to see if she had come up with anything, Cayden was surprised and a little confused at the look on her face. She seemed to be waiting for something, an expectant look in her eyes as she gazed after the moving War Rig. Trying to figure out what she was doing, Cayden heard a noise from behind him and, turning, realised what she had been waiting for.

The Rig had stopped. It had travelled a few hundred feet from its original position, but now had slowly come to a halt, the engines cutting out and refusing to pull the great beast any further. Wondering how this had happened, Cayden could have slapped himself when the answer came to him. Furiosa had a kill switch aboard the Rig, preventing anyone from stealing the vehicle. He thought back to the similar system he had in his own car, realising how it shouldn't have been such a surprise that a veteran of the Wasteland like Furiosa would include such a safety precaution. Remembering his car, Cayden turned to check on it, ensuring that it was still there and hadn't been damaged. It was still where it had been, no worse for wears than when he had arrived. He let out a small breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. While some might say that a car was merely another tool to be used, Cayden saw his as much more. This vehicle had been with him for almost as long as he could remember. He'd built it up from scrap and broken parts, and it had become the only constant in his life, saving his hide more times than he could count. It was his right hand, his weapon, and the nearest thing he could call home.

Toast seemed to almost sense his thoughts, slowly pulling him over to the car, and letting him lean his weight against the sleek metal body. Casting a thankful look at her, he ran his hands along the car roof, losing himself in the smooth, warm surface. Turning around to face Toast, Cayden saw that she was no longer there. Looking around, he saw he knelt in the sands several feet away, facing away from him and seemed to be picking something up, although he couldn't see what. While he waited, he tried to confront some of the thoughts running through his mind. He still couldn't quite believe that these people were so accepting of him. He knew that some of his…issues…meant that he could be foolishly quick in getting attached to those he worked with, explaining his self-imposed solitude, but when it came from the other side? He knew they needed his help to escape, but that didn't explain the small, unnecessary, acts of kindness he'd been shown. Despite the short time, they'd already been kinder to him than anyone he had every met in his travels, becoming comrades instead of just another job.

Well, except for two of them…

Angharad, at least, he could understand. The kindness, the gift of water, the conversation. She was like the mother he had lost, the sister he could barely remember, indeed the closest thing he could attribute to family without the feeling of loss. Perhaps it was the babe she carried inside her, but Cayden knew she was truly the mother of the Wives, working with them and caring for them as only a mother could. He understood that. But Toast? Every time he thought of the young woman, every time he saw her, his mind refused to come to any kind of coherent answer, and this irritated him. What was it about her that was so different from the other Wives, from anyone else he had met, to illicit this response? She was attractive, certainly, possessing a beauty that few could surpass. Her past? Cayden knew just from looking at her that she had survived the Wasteland before, had lost those close to her before. Was it just one spirit reaching out to a kindred one? He wasn't sure. The way she had first appeared to him, looking at his car with appreciation and admiration, certainly didn't hurt, but he doubted that was the sole culprit for his confusion. A combination of these qualities perhaps? He'd have to think on it further. He shook himself out of his ponderings when he heard someone approach, watching the woman who had so disrupted his mind return. She was clutching a bundle to her chest, and Cayden watched as she set it down.

She laid it gently on the hood of the car, and Cayden saw how it was her shawl, used to wrap up the items inside. Toast nodded at the package and, easing himself along the metal body, he moved over to it and pulled the material back. There, lying on the white fabric, were his shotgun, knife, and the three shells he had lost. His confusion must have shown on his face, as Toast quickly started speaking.

"They were all over the place. I thought I'd get them all together, save you some time, considering…" she trailed off, eyes flitting over his arms supporting his weight, before darting to the ground. Cayden kept his eyes on her for a few seconds before turning back to his equipment. He agreed with her, it would have taken him far too long to collect all this with his injuries, but her act, whilst undeniably kind, only served to add to his confusion regarding her. Shaking his head, and ignoring the dizziness it caused, he reloaded his gun, checking it quickly for damage, before slipping it back into its holster, and slid his knife into a loop on his belt. Despite his high tolerance for pain, he doubted he would have been able to place the blade in his boot without risking further damage. Finishing his work, he turned to Toast, his strength, slowly, returning to him.

"Thank you, Toast." He said, his voice hoarse but clear. Her head rose quickly. She didn't know he knew her name. Cayden locked eyes with her, and he let some warmth enter the gaze. "I mean it. Thank you."

She ducked her head back down, and Cayden heard her mutter something in response, too soft for his ears to pick up. Smirking a little at her reaction, he raised his head to see what was happening with the others. The other Wives were moving, running across the sand in the direction of the Rig. Furiosa was turning to do the same, but she glanced to Cayden first, a sliver of respect and gratitude in her eyes. He nodded in response and, turning to his car, pulled open the door and climbed in. Reaching under the dashboard, he quickly disarmed the trap before activating the engine. The roar of the V8 seemed to snap Toast back to reality, looking at the car with the same look as the first time she laid eyes on it.

"We should probably go catch up." Cayden began, pointing to the moving women as Toast turned to follow their progress. "Get in."

The woman stayed frozen for a second, before meeting his eyes and, seeing the silent desire for speed, quickly raced around and clambered through the passenger door.

"Sorry about the mess." Cayden commented as she positioned herself amongst his supplies, before pressing down on the accelerator and sending the car lurching forwards.

The journey was a short one, with the pair arriving by the Rig well before the others. This was partly due to Cayden pushing the car as fast as it could go, a desire to show off filling him, coming straight from the passenger's presence. Coming to a stop (he couldn't resist the slight drift, seeing as how he'd never had anyone to show off to), he killed the engine and, from the corner of his eye, watched Toast, trying to gauge her reaction. Her eyes were wide, obviously not having been prepared for the high speed, but they glittered with excitement and the trace of adrenaline. Her breathing had increased, coming out in short, sharp bursts that made her chest heave. But the smile on her face was what he focused on. Cayden swore that he could have been blinded were it any brighter. Every single one of her teeth was on display, and they shone with the pure joy which had taken over the young woman's face. Cayden took in her expression with a sense of satisfaction, before mentally shaking his head. What was going on with him? He had never acted like this before, growing up as a serious and deadly Road Warrior, but now he was acting like a child, all due to this one person. What was so special about her? He was pulled from his thoughts when Toast clambered over his supplies and climbed out of the car, the other women having finally caught up. Cayden stayed where he was, using the time to sink into the torn and battered car seat, letting his body relax and the pain from the fight leak out of him. He pulled the bandana off from around his neck and, swapping it with the goggles, tied it around his head. The blood may have stopped, but he wasn't going to take any chances, until he had a chance to stitch it up.

The women were still standing beside the Rig, with Furiosa looking to be talking to, or rather at, the feral. Cayden couldn't hear the words being said, and he doubted the Wives could without straining, and so he waited, taking the time to check on the five women. Despite himself, he had grown fond of the group, his conversation with Angharad serving to fill out what he knew of them. Cheedo still looked scared, and, while he sympathised with her, he knew that you needed to be strong to survive, a trait the waif girl would need to learn. Capable and the Dag stood close together, and Cayden was glad. Friends and allies were always a hard-sought prize, and the pair would likely need the support in the days to come, protecting each other and, in all likelihood, shielding Cheedo. His eyes skimmed over Toast, having learnt everything he needed of her. She was excited, that much was certain. There were still traces of fear, but as long as she kept these under control, and didn't let them control her, she'd be fine. Finally landing on Angharad, Cayden couldn't help the sense of pride that blossomed in his chest. She looked the same as when he had first seen her: strong, proud and confident. Taking in her face, his eyes trailed down to the wound in her leg. It was beginning to worry him; more blood having run down her flesh to mingle with the dust. Cayden knew it needed attention, but didn't move. He knew his role in the plan, and the damage would most likely be seen to when the group started moving again. All he could do was hope.

His attention was wrenched forward again. Whatever had passed between the feral and the Imperator had seemingly been resolved. The Wives started climbing into the back of the cabin, slowing down and helping Angharad when she mounted the steps, her pregnant belly making the task more arduous, while Furiosa remained in the sand. Once the large metal door had been pulled closed, the warrior woman turned to Cayden's black car, nodding her head to him while raising her re-attached metal arm, pointing towards the horizon in the direction the vehicles were facing. Nodding in return, he started his engine and began to move, leading the Rig onwards. He knew where they were headed, he knew the plan, and he knew that part he needed to play.

 _(flashback)_

 _Cayden lay beneath the Rig's giant body, fingers at work on a particularly stubborn pipe. Angharad had left some time ago, leaving him to his thoughts, processing the information he had gathered. He still wondered what had possessed him to make his promise to the pregnant woman, but pushed the thought aside. He had made it, that was all that mattered. No point in wondering about things he no longer had control over. As he came to this conclusion, he heard the sound of heavy boots approaching, and pulled himself out from under the huge engine. Furiosa stood over him, silhouette blocking out the sun. For a moment, neither of them spoke, both warriors trying to read the other._

 _"Your promise," the Imperator began, her voice shattering the silence and drawing Cayden's attention to her, "did you mean it?"_

 _Not moving a muscle for a few seconds, he slowly nodded his head. "I do not make promises lightly, and those I do make, I stick to."_

 _Furiosa seemed to have been satisfied with this answer, her face losing some of its icy tension. "In that case, you should know our plan. Wouldn't want to have to kill you over messing it up."_

 _Cayden nodded and sat up properly, ears perking up to hear what was to be said._

 _"We'll be heading through a mountain pass." The Imperator began, her voice clear and loud, obviously not wanting Cayden to miss any of it. "I've made a deal with the gang there. We hand over the fuel", she nodded in the direction of the fuel pod at the rear of the tanker, "and they let us through, blowing the path behind us and preventing Joe from following."_

 _He nodded running the plan through his head. Simple yet effective, a good plan that should work._

 _"There's just one problem." Cayden looked up at this. "They only promised passage for one, and they'll kill me if I show up with anyone else."_

 _They young road warrior knew what she was saying. His car was an anomaly, at worst a liability, one that hadn't been accounted for. Cayden looked in the direction the Rig was facing, towards freedom, as he tried to come up with a solution. Furiosa waited, her face a mixture of patience and repressed irritation, as his mind worked. Suddenly remembering something, he looked up at her again._

 _"These mountains. I remember a trader telling me something about a hidden path. It should lead above the canyon, all the way to the other side. I can pass through there and meet up with you."_

 _Furiosa didn't move for a minute, thinking through the plan and its chance of success. "Alright," she finally acknowledged, "you take this path and join up with us after."_

 _She began to move away, but let out a final statement. "Just remember, you betray us, and I'll make sure you regret it."_

 _Cayden stayed where he was, waiting until the footsteps faded away, before lowering himself down once again. At least there was a plan to this mad dash, and he had a role in it. Now all that was needed was for it to work._

They were moving across the sands again. Cayden made sure to leave a sizeable gap between the rear of his car and the massive ram of the Rig. That thing, while not worrisome in itself, only helped to raise dark thoughts of its destructive potential to his car, enough so that distance was needed just for the ability to focus. As the tops of the craggy mountains came into view, a flash of sunlight on metal drew Cayden's vision to the right. More dark shapes had appeared on the horizon, and he pulled the binoculars to his face in order to get a better look, careful of his vehicle's direction. More War Boy cars and bikes, all coming from the black stained direction of Gastown and all ready to join up with Joe's War Party. He scanned the assortment of war machines, his eyes coming to rest on the largest of the bunch. A car body raised on a massive set of wheels, pulling behind it what looked to be a mobile oil refinery. Cayden grimaced. The personal transport of the People Eater, a disgusting, cowardly man, and the ruler of Gastown. He could just about see the swollen monster through the glass of his binoculars, his metal nose piece and ridiculous suit giving him away from the skeletal War Boys. Cayden detested the man, for his cowardice, extortion of those weaker than him, as well as his callous nature to human life, preferring numbers over names.

Turning his head to the left, Cayden glanced across the sand, almost predicting what would be there. Sure enough, another mass of rusted cars was approaching, straight from the poisonous Bullet Farm. Eyes sailing through yet more vehicles, he finally spotted the Bullet Farmer, covered in the items that gave him his name, and riding a very interesting looking car. It looked to be a regular ride, but instead of wheels and tyres, two metal sets of caterpillar tracks pulled it across the Wasteland, making it reminiscent of the ancient tank husks Cayden had come across in his travels. His brow tightened further. He had visited the Bullet Farm before, which was little more than a hole in the ground, twisted into some semblance of civilisation, and had even met the Bullet Farmer. Aside from the man's allegiance and derogatory, though not outright cruel, treatment of those under him, Cayden had come to possess a reluctant respect for the old man, especially for his military mind and survival instincts, and even envied him his unique vehicle. The feelings of respects had been returned, Cayden knew for certain, but that would make no difference. The two were on opposing sides, and the young warrior would have no hesitation in wiping out the older one off the face of the earth, if and when such a thing became necessary.

Lowering the battered binoculars from his face, he was about to return his attention to the path ahead once again, when the sounds of a struggle came for the Rig. Turning in his seat, Cayden saw movement through the cabin's windshield, Furiosa struggling against a bone white arm. The War Boy. He growled under his breath as he twisted the steering wheel and squeezed the brake, manoeuvring himself alongside the Rig. His sudden appearance had the effect of distracting the War Boy, turning to watch his car move. This provided the Wives with an opportunity, grabbing and pulling the ghostly white figure away from Furiosa, shoving him out of the door and holding him above the whistling sands. The wind snatched away the words being said, although Cayden managed to catch 'who killed the world?' from Angharad, before the women's grips were released and the unfortunate War Boy dropped, bouncing in the sand and vanishing behind the small convoy. Watching the pathetic figure disappear, Cayden hoped that the ungraceful ejection would deter the War Boy from trying again, although he knew it unlikely. If War Boys were anything, they were stubborn and not prone to ideas of self-preservation. Still, as he pulled ahead to resume his position in the unusual procession, he hoped for the best, at least for the War Boy's sake. He didn't enjoy killing, viewing it as a last resort instead of a preferred option, but he wouldn't hesitate if his allies were in harm's way. He'd survived twice, a third would be pushing his luck. And on he drove.

Eventually, the mountains came into view fully, and Cayden knew his time had come. Glancing back at the Rig for a second, he twisted the wheel around and sped off left of the path, moving towards what he hoped was the entrance of the hidden path. Following the skirt of the mountains for a few minutes, he eventually came across a shallow gap in the rock and drove through, with barely enough space for his car to fit, although the scraping noise as he progressed seemed to damage this idea. The trail rose steeply, circling one of the rocky stacks, until it finally levelled out and Cayden could see the surrounding land, one side of the path's wall dropping away into nothingness.

He was high above the ground, about halfway up the mountain, and he could see right down into the canyon. Cayden clearly saw the War Rig in the distance, still a ways away from entering the territory, and his eyes caught on the shapes of men and bikes beneath him, on either side of the ridge. The biker gang. He knew he was well out of range from attacks, but even so, the slight tingling he felt in the back of his neck advised caution. He couldn't let himself relax, that would only increase his chances of being spotted. He kept moving along the outcrop path, slowing beginning to descend until he reached a small plateau, jutting out from the short mountain. Killing the engine, Cayden reached behind him and grabbed a small box, opening it to find a needle and several strands of thread. Stepping out of the car and discarding his jacking, tossing the heavy leather back through the metal door, he moved to sit on the bonnet of the car, binoculars by his side and medical gear in his hands. After all, he figured, sliding the metal pin through his flesh and beginning the process of sealing the gash on his head, he had quite a while until the Rig arrived. Might as well find something to fill the time.

 **Another chapter up.**

 **Hope you guys enjoy this one. I like the Bullet Farmer in the movie (well, more his car, but that's beside the point), so I though this link would be cool.**

 **There is probably going to be a drop in uploads due to my upcoming exams, but it should only be until the start of July.**

 **Again, hope you enjoy, and I'll see ya later (figuratively)**

 **TimeFury1347**


	10. Chapter 8

The War Rig. The crown jewel in the Immortan Joe's great armada of War Boys. The stuff of legends to those who had never laid eyes on it, and the greatest, the deadliest beast in the Wasteland to those who had. And it truly was great. At two thousand horsepower, it possessed eighteen wheels, two colossal V8 engines, and enough armour and firepower to take on half the Wasteland, while the other half ran away in terror, trying to escape the living nightmare they had found. Pieced together over the years, it had many origins, and just as many secrets. However, one of these secrets was more obscure, more unknown than any other. Before belonging to the Citadel, the great tanker of the Rig had belonged to a simple man, a survivor of the Great Collapse of the World, who had sought for freedom and peace for himself and his family. To that end, he had built a secret compartment into the metal cylinder, to shield his loved ones from the worst that the Wasteland had to offer, sealed with a hatchway and nigh-invisible to outsiders. This story, sadly ends in tragedy, with the good man while seeking supplies for his family. After his death, the tanker sat immobile for many days and nights, until a pack of War Boys dragged it back to the three great rock pillars, to eventually join it with its new siblings. The hidden compartment had been discovered not long after, along with the grisly remains of its final occupants. Only two were aware of this undiscovered mystery, one an old man who died not long after, while the other, a young girl, one who would rise to command the mighty Rig, the symbol of the Citadel. And whose greatest secret, she put to great use, in a plan that would shake the Wasteland.

Toast groaned as she pulled herself through the small hatch in the floor, crawling out of the metal tube into the front of the Rig's secret living quarters. As she moved deeper into the hidden room, away from the exit, as well as the three women surrounding it, an overwhelming sensation of… something hit her. She had no idea what it was, only that it was powerful, taking over a large portion of her head and refusing to let go. Crawling into the far corner of the tanker, surrounded by warm metal and the low hum of the great engines, Toast closed her eyes and fell back into her mind. There was still time before they arrived at the canyon, at the crossroads of their journey. Better to use the time like this, calming her mind, rather than on panicking, worrying about things she had no control over, hidden away in her dark little box.

She was scared, she knew that much for certain. Every thought of what was going to happen, of what could happen, and everything in between inspired some measure of fear deep inside of her. Nothing like this had ever been attempted before, as far as Toast was aware. Nothing of this magnitude, this audacity, this… pure madness. The unknown element of the escape played havoc with her head, having grown used to uniformity and some semblance of structure, no matter how nightmarish. Even when the terror of the unpredictable could be put to rest, she still feared what could happen next. The dream of 'the Green Place' had sounded so beautiful, so fantastical when she and the other Wives were enslaved to the Citadel, to Joe's perverted desires, trapped among the pillars of rock. A chance of escape, of peace, of _freedom_ had been more than enough for the women, something they were willing to commit their lives to, and damn the consequences. Easy words for a dream, less so for reality. Toast knew the dangers of the journey, they all did. The fear that arose was of whether they could overcome the dangers, or if they would fall trying. And even then, could the promised paradise, could anywhere, truly provide them with the freedom they so craved, could end the pursuit of what they were running so desperately from?

The Immortan Joe. Toast's mind spat out the name venomously, the thought alone filling her throat with bile and her veins with red hot fire. That creature, for there was no possible way of him being identifiable of anything resembling a human being anymore, was the personification, in her mind, of every single evil, twisted, and downright wrong thing in the burning Wasteland of humanity. An empire built on the broken bodies and shattered dreams of the innocent, an army filled with brainwashed zealots ready to sacrifice everything, even their lives, for a false god. Twisting hundreds of starving, exhausted and dying people around his finger, turning a source of life, once so pure and beautiful, into a perverted tool of control over his suffering, crippled subjects. And that was without mentioning the cruelty of the old monster and his command, the vile, uncaring attitude towards his most obedient and loyal followers, and the unspeakable things, unforgiveable crimes her had inflicted on the Wives, his most _precious of treasures._ Toast couldn't bear to think about the horrors she had been through, the merest reminder causing stinging tears and a blinding anguish, the pain she had suffered weighing heavy on her soul. Glancing at the others, Toast knew they felt the same. They had all been through the deepest pits of Hell, had endured more than their fair share. But, she thought, forcing the pain and the fear away, they were free. Free and heading towards salvation, thanks to the great Imperator Furiosa. And the young road warrior…

Toast's brow furrowed as thoughts of this man began to fill her head, bringing with them a tidal wave of strange questions, ideas and emotions. Confusion was the most prominent amongst them, hand in hand with curiosity. The man had come from seemingly nowhere, appearing out of the sands to offer his support. The confused her. From what she could remember of her time in the Wasteland, nobody offered support, or anything else, without wanting something back in return. But this man did. Toast had initially thought that he was playing some sort of game, that he had a plan in mind to use the group for his own ends, and then just abandon them, take the Rig and leave them to the mercy of the desert. Or, worse still, that he would hand them over to Joe, in exchange for some reward. But this idea had been thoroughly shattered, first by Angharad's feedback of their conversation, and then by his actions against the feral, an eventual failure though they were. The man, Cayden, she had learnt from the pregnant woman, had promised to help them in their escape, removing any suspicions of abandoning them, and had then fought against a threat to their lives, ignoring his chance at escape and instead risking his life to defend theirs. Toast had seen his wounds, had heard his pained grunts, and knew that, had he continued to fight for much longer, the chances of the fight spelling his death were very high. The man was selfless, brave and, if his actions were any indication, loyal to a fault. These attributes, coupled with his role as a hardened road warrior, this the woman had no doubt about, only served to twist Toast's thoughts up in knots, until she had no idea what to think, what image to paint.

What had happened after the fight only solidified this jumble. His thanks had sent her for a spin. She had done only the simplest of things, things which most others would have barely acknowledged, or would have taken for granted. But he had shown genuine gratitude for her actions, even allowing her into his car as a way to pay her back. That brief moment, the handful of seconds they had driven, was still fresh in her mind. The comforting warmth of the car, the roar of the engine in her ears, the sensation of the blood pumping through her body at such a great speed. The exhilaration she had felt, the breathless wonder, was so new to her that she felt like she would never forget it. This didn't help her maelstrom of a mind, only adding new mysteries and feelings to the already tangled network taking over her head. Toast resolved, then and there, hidden in the stomach of the most legendary vehicle of the Wasteland, to fill in the missing gaps. The man was the greatest mystery she had ever come across, his heart out of place with his body and looking to be completely unique in all of the desert. She would learn, she would piece together, and maybe, just maybe, she would come to know more about the strange warrior who had helped make their freedom possible.

The Rig gave a sudden jolt and, as Toast began to move across the small room over to the other women, she felt, rather than heard, the slight rumbling of the metal surface die out. They had stopped moving and that could mean only one thing. They had arrived at the canyon.

Toast knelt with the three other women, huddled around the opening in the floor to try and gain some idea of what was going on outside of the metal shell. Peering through the hatch, the young woman could just about see the start of a pale leg, and she sighed. Angharad. When the Wives had been sent back through the tunnel, something none of them had ever wanted to do again, Angharad had remained behind, forced to stay with the feral in the cabin, as a sort of hostage to prevent Furiosa from giving him up. Toast growled under her breath at that, the animalistic sound perfectly matching her thoughts. Muzzled or not, that man was truly a feral at heart, a survivor with no care for others and seemingly no remorse for what he had done, or who he had hurt. She understood why he behaved as he did, the Wasteland had a tendency to chew people up and spit them out again, but this man definitely took it to an extreme. Taking a deep breath to settle her thoughts, Toast focused her attention back onto events taking place outside. Thanks to the heavily armoured body of the tanker, the words being exchanged were lost to her. All she could hear was empty noises, a loud one belonging to Furiosa and a much quieter one being presumably whoever it was she was talking to from the biker gang. Toast knew the plan: gasoline for safe passage and blocking the canyon behind them, a fair trade for any Wastelander. All she could do was wait, feeling the tension of the Wives, her sisters, next to her grow with every passing moment. Just a bit longer, a few more seconds, and they'd be free.

(Looking back, Toast probably should have seen it coming. After all, when had a plan ever gone perfectly for anyone?)

A cry tore through the still air. Toast stared through the opening with a mixture of sympathy and dread. The noise had come from Angharad, the _pregnant_ woman lying in a shallow tunnel in the metal monolith. Her belly had been growing steadily for weeks, months even, and so none of the women were overly surprised at the recognisable noise. The last thing a woman in her situation needed was an excess of undue stress, something she was obviously experiencing, lying next to a man with a gun trained on her. Another similar cry was released, and Toast felt her heart sink. There was no way possible that those outside the Rig hadn't heard the woman's screams, and, considering the very specific agreement Furiosa had made, there was only one possible outcome. Toast sighed as she heard the blank noise start to rise in volume and intensity.

Pregnancy really did have the worst timing.

For the first time since they'd stopped, Toast was able to hear something being said from outside. A loud, authoritative cry of "Fool!" wrenched through the air, and the sound of movement came from the tunnel almost instantly. The code word, the word that meant all hell was about to break loose, and that they needed to get out of there. The familiar rumble of the engines sounded, and the Rig jerked forwards, the women all thrown back from the sudden movement. Picking herself up from the ground, Toast heard the faint _ping_ ing sounds from all around them, recognising that the bikers had started firing at them. For a few moments, she didn't move, simply feeling the Rig roll forward, and listening to the tingling sound of the bullet impacts, soaking in the sounds of battle and mentally preparing herself. When she left the hidden compartment, she would be heading into the middle of a warzone. Being unprepared would soon see her dead. At the calming sound of Angharad's voice filtering through the hatch, she moved. Crouching down she lowered herself into the tunnel, beginning her crawl through the darkness, light splashing on her face from the tunnel's exit.

Poking her head out into the sunlight, Toast pulled back almost instantly, as the air was ripped apart in front of her face, bullets flying through the air mere inches from her. Looking to the direction they came from, she spotted a biker, gun arm raised as they prepared to fire again. Another gunshot from ahead of her sounded, coming from the Rig's cabin, and the man collapsed, dragging down his bike into a tangled mass as blood erupted from his chest. Silently thanking whoever had saved her, Toast sprang forward, almost flying across the gap between the two tunnels as she moved towards the cabin. More gunfire sounded, and she felt the wind on the back of her legs, but kept moving, rushing through the tunnel and heaving herself up onto the cabin's back seats. Checking herself over, Toast found that the last few bullets had barely missed her, tearing several ragged holes into the loose skirt around her lower half. Moving her eyes away from the material, as well as squashing the burst of exhilaration she had felt at the danger, she turned to help the remaining women up onto the seats, assisting Angharad in the task before sinking into the corner, trying to avoid the bullets flying through the air, and the painful consequences of getting in their way.

From behind them came a great booming sound, and Toast glanced carefully into the cracked wing mirror, eager to see what had caused the noise. A wall of black smoke met her eyes, rising up into the sky with flames licking out from its concealed centre. She saw giant rocks crashing to the ground, and realised that the bikers must have blown the canyon entrance, sealing it up and preventing any of the three massive War Parties from entering. Toast couldn't stop the small grin that formed on her face. With the canyon closed, Joe would either give up, try and skirt the mountains, or try to clear a path to continue. No matter what he did, he wouldn't be able to catch up with the Rig for a very long time, if at all, every second bringing with it more distance from the sickly husk of a man. The greatest threat to their freedom was dealt with, for now. All that remained was surviving the journey, and, more immediately, the gun-wielding collection of angry bikers that were swarming around the Rig.

As she turned her head to look out the front of the cabin, Toast cried out, along with the other Wives, as the path ahead was suddenly engulfed in flames. When the orange and red had cleared, the last tongues licking at the metal body, she saw that the fire had come from a biker in front of the Rig, having dropped some kind of explosive into the sand. Great, Toast huffed, now they had firebombs. As the Rig kept moving, similar explosions could be heard hammering against the cabin and tanker, with more flames visible through the window and mirror. Toast stared out at the engine. Several more bombs had found their mark there, with the orange fire licking at the glass and metal incessantly, seeking a way inside to the Rig's inner workings. Furiosa pulled on a lever beside the driver's seat, and Toast heard a low thud, the ram attached to the front of the Rig dropping into the sand, raising a great cloud of dust in its wake. Toast and the other Wives pushed their hands in front of their faces, eyes squeezed tightly shut as the sand made its way inside, stinging their arms and making breathing without choking next to impossible.

When the dust finally cleared, Toast lowered her arms, blinking the stray particles of sand out of her eyes, as she watched the battle begin anew. She watched in awe, her eyes still watering, as the feral and Furiosa moved. If she hadn't seen the pair fight earlier, witnessed the two try to tear each other's throats out, she could have thought that they were a natural team, the pair working in tandem against the bikers. From passing each other fresh loaded weapons to covering the other's blind spots, they fought like legends, with shouts and crashes sailing through the wind with every squeeze of the trigger.

Toast was shaken out of her reverie by Furiosa ducking into the cabin.

"Reload!" she shouted, thrusting the gun into Angharad and Capable's arms before continuing the battle with a pistol. The two Wives looked at the weapon and each other, confusion clear on their faces. Toast quickly grabbed the gun from their hands, pulling it into her lap and beginning the process of reloading. As much as she cared about the women sitting beside her, they were completely hopeless when it came to anything involving Wasteland survival. As she worked, sliding bullets into the ammo clip, her fingers began to shake, slipping across the weapon and accidentally dropping a few pieces of precious ammo onto the floor. She knew what she was doing, but the adrenaline she had experienced earlier seemed to be wearing off, her body protesting the loss and making her clumsy.

As she finished filling the clip, Toast heard a thud from behind her, followed by the sound of a motor from… above her? Confused, she twisted in her seat, looking out through the back of the cabin to the top of the tanker. One of the bikers was on top of the Rig, staring down at them and drawing its gun. Her head whipped back around as Furiosa appeared in front of her, grabbing desperately at the rifle.

"It's not loaded yet!" Toast screamed, trying frantically to load the clip and ready the weapon, something her shaking hands seemed to refuse to do. The biker behind her shouted something, although her ears didn't pick up the words, her head too filled with terror to care. The sound of close gunfire shook the fear from her mind. The biker was firing, and the dull thudding impact of bullets on metal was far too close to Toast's head. She ducked down along with the others, eyes darting to the feral. The man had begun to turn, his arm rising to aim a pistol at the attacker, before he suddenly paused, eyes widening slightly in surprise. Toast tried to figure out the reason for this, before the roar of a familiar engine met her ears and she grinned, spinning in her seat to find the noise's origin. For a brief second, she saw the black car, lifted off the ground as if it were flying, headed straight for the biker. The man screamed, raising his arms in a futile attempt to shield himself, before the sleek vehicle slammed into him, sending both man and machine flying as the car continued its airborne journey. As the cabin shook from a sudden impact, one the car's rear wheels had crashed into the metal, Toast stared out of the window… and let out a scream.

The black car had crashed, the impact against the Rig having sent it spinning wildly to the ground where it landed with a thunderous bang. It lay rolling in the sand as flames began to creep out from under the bonnet. Her eyes flashed desperately over the vehicle, searching for any sign of Cayden and whether or not he had survived. Before she could find him, however, a massive explosion engulfed the metal demon, the body disappearing amidst the fire as smoke began to rise, turning the once beautiful car into a blackened tomb. Tears pricking at her eyes, Toast stared at the mangled ruin, before catching on something else, coming up behind and alongside the Rig. A flash of sunlight on silver steel, and she felt her heart plummet in her chest, any remnants of hope fleeing her body.

It was the Gigahorse. The Immortan Joe was here.

 **Ooh, a cliffhanger! Wonder what will happen next?**


	11. Chapter 9

Cayden watched through his binoculars as the Rig made its way into the canyon, rolling under the great rocky arch before coming to a halt. He had tracked its progress up to this point, first with his naked eye while he stitched up his head wound, and then with the battered equipment pressed to his face. The stitches had hurt, he wasn't going to lie, almost as painful as receiving the wound in the first place, but the pain had kept him awake and alert, looking out for threats in his vulnerability, and continuing to do so even once the supplies had been packed away, leaving only a throbbing scar. There was no threat now, though. The full attention of the biker gang was down in the canyon, ad, as Cayden peered through the cracked glass, he saw why. Furiosa had just stepped out of the cabin, her hands, flesh and metal, raised in the air.

His eyes focused on her, watching carefully as the Imperator moved to the rear of the Rig, towards the fuel pod that would ensure their freedom. Her lips moved, and Cayden knew she was trading words with one of the bikers. Due to the distance, however, the words themselves were lost to him, the low hum of sound that barely reached his ears the only indication they were still talking. Cayden didn't care what was being said though, only paying attention to the actions of those gathered down below him. He flitted over the bikers, eyeing their body movement and taking account of their weaponry. Nothing too dangerous, but still enough to make his trigger finger itch. He forced the urge from his mid, it would only land them all in danger, and turned back to the Imperator. She was almost at the fuel pod now, nearing the end of the large tanker and close to ending the threat from Joe. Cayden saw her hand reach out for the coupling between the two metal silos. And then it happened.

From seemingly nowhere, a scream erupted, ripping through the silent air and making Cayden's heart leap in his chest. He recognised the sound, having heard it from others he had known. And he knew who it had come from, with that simple fact enough to make him shake his head. Poor Angharad. To have come so far, to reach out for such a simple dream, only to have the spawn of what she had fled aid in the destruction of her peace. The Wasteland itself seemed to be against them. As he watched, scanning the bikers, many of whom had been unsettled by the noise, another such scream emanated from the Rig, and the unsettled confusion was replaced by anger. He didn't have to guess what was going to happen next.

As Furiosa cried out "Fool!", Cayden laughing slightly as he figured out who she was referring to, she began running, ducking alongside the Rig and using it as a massive barrier. She was only just in time, as the bikers started firing, the booming sound of bullets wrenching through the air easily reaching the young warrior's hearing, as well as the metallic thudding noise of these same bullets ricocheting or sinking into the metal of the tanker and cabin of the Rig. The sound of the large engines starting up echoed around the hills, and the great monolith began moving, with Furiosa quickly clambering inside its armoured hull. Cayden didn't stick around to see this however, having already jumped up and spun around, almost throwing himself into his black car. He revved the engine and twisted the wheel, spinning the car around and rocketing forwards, moving along the narrow path with as much speed as he could. From behind came the sound of a great explosion, with the accompanying rumble of falling rocks telling Cayden that the bikers had sealed the canyon. He didn't look round though, eyes trained on the rocky road, as well as trying to find the Rig. A small smirk began to form on his face despite this, satisfied in the knowledge that the War Parties couldn't follow.

As he drove, he heard the nearby sound of motorbike engines, and, looking down, saw a large number heading towards the Rig, swarming around it like flies over a rotting corpse. As he rounded a sharp corner, finally dropping down onto a level ground with the chase, a flash of light caught his eye and he turned his head, letting out a low growl at what he found. One of the bikes had gotten ahead if the Rig and dropped a bomb, the small device having released a ball of flame on detonation, engulfing the front of the vehicle in swirling flames. As the biker prepared to drop another bomb, Cayden slammed on the accelerator. He might not be able to deal with that threat right now, but the stragglers, the ones harassing the sides of the Rig? Those he could do something about.

Cayden raced forward, the engine of his car purring, almost eager to enter the battle that had begun ahead of them. More bikes had begun to drop their deadly bombs, the riders ramping over the Rig to release their payload. Explosions boomed off of the great hull of the tanker, balls of fire flaring for an instant before simmering down, leaving a blackened metal surface in their wake. However, for as many explosions as there were, there were almost just as many bullets emerging from the Rig itself. From His position, Cayden could only see the odd flash of a gun barrel, but the effects of the weapons were clear as day to him. All around the Rig, bikers fell, either falling off their rides or crashing with them, the crumpled bodies and twisted heaps of metal always accompanied by the sound of a gunshot and a sickeningly beautiful fountain of blood. Weaving through the piles of flesh and steel left in the wake of the massive war machine, Cayden couldn't help the small grin on his face. Whatever doubts he had possessed concerning the ability of the feral and the woman, primarily their ability to refrain from killing each other after a few minutes, had been completely and utterly swept aside, the ruthless efficiency displayed making him glad that he was on their side.

Despite the large drop in bikers, however, the attacks on the Rig were starting to have an effect. Cayden could see the now constant fire burning on the hood, dangerously close to the engines. If the enemy landed one more hit there, it could spell disaster, the end of the group's mad dash for freedom. His head on a swivel, watching the remaining bikes to try and prevent another bombing run, he almost missed the new development on the Rig. Indeed, it was only the low thud that caught his attention, and he turned his head to look. The fire was gone, replaced instead by a massive cloud of sand, spraying up from in front of the Rig and engulfing almost half of it. Furiosa must have lowered the ram, he realised, thanking whatever higher power that there was for creating that crucial attachment for the monolith, forgetting his earlier apprehension surrounding its destructive capabilities. At that moment, it might just have saved all of their lives, since Cayden doubted that he would've been able to escape the battle without the Rig drawing the heavy fire. Switching his attention back onto the remaining bikers, he tightened his grip on the wheel. The fire may have been dealt with, but they weren't out of danger just yet.

Slamming down on the accelerator, Cayden sent the car racing forward, the powerful engine giving the sleek vehicle the speed of a hurricane. The first biker never stood a chance, learning of the threat a split second before the end, the car's light ram ripping the back wheel off the bike and sending the remains flying, its rider coming down with a sickening thud, never to rise again. A similar set of events occurred with the next two bikes, given barely enough time to hear the engine bearing down on them before being sent on a one-way trip into the abyss. Cayden refused to relax, however. Three may have fallen, but there were still well over a dozen, maybe two, left, with the Rig's occupants still unable to support him. Gritting his teeth, he twisted the wheel sharply, slamming into the biker coming alongside him. The man fell, but not before squeezing on the trigger of his rising gun, and Cayden grimaced as a bullet landed in his arm. He wasn't wearing his jacket, the garment lying beside him, and so hadn't the protection it offered. Ignoring the pain, he twisted again, sending another biker flying, before pulling sharply on the handbrake, spinning the car in a quick circle before rattling onwards again, the body of the car now adorned with a new collection of dents and the sand now decorated with half a dozen still bodies. And on the battle raged.

His last manoeuvre had cost him distance, and Cayden hurried to catch up with the Rig, pulling his shotgun from its holster as he coaxed more speed from the engine. The miniature sandstorm around the metal giant had abated, and the two warrior veterans were once again at work, the sound of gunfire reaching the young survivor's ears long before he caught up, forced once again to avoid more mangled piles of scrap and sinew. Once he had caught up, he assessed the situation. Most of the bikers had been dealt with, either dead or forced to retreat, with only five or so still continuing the pursuit. Cayden sighed. These were brave men, worthy warriors, and he truly regretted his actions, forced though they were. The Wasteland was littered with more than enough corpses, it didn't need any more added to it. But he forced that thought from his head. They were the enemy, and they were threatening the lives of his friends, his survival. If he didn't kill them, they would kill him. With this mantra echoing through his mind, Cayden raised his gun, aiming it at the back of a biker that was too far out of ramming range, and fired, the recoil shaking his arm, sending pain rippling from the bullet wound, as the unfortunate target went sailing, disappearing as the young warrior altered his attention. He saw another biker fall, and trained his eyes on the Rig. His brow furrowed. Something was wrong.

There was only one biker left now. Cayden had been too focused on the others to notice the final threat, the man having used the lack of awareness to somehow ramp onto the back of the tanker, riding up the metal cylinder to stop at its bow, positioned above the cabin and able to see inside clearly. Cayden focused on Furiosa, seeing the woman duck down through the roof and gesture at one of the Wives inside, obviously seeking a weapon to fill her unarmed hands. She looked up after a few seconds, still weaponless, and Cayden saw, to his shock, the unfamiliar look on the Imperator's face. Gone was the cool, calm deadliness he had grown accustomed to, replaced instead with a frantic look laced with…fear. The woman was afraid. So surprised at this out of place expression, Cayden couldn't focus on the rest of the scene, only being pulled from his stupor by the sound of gunfire. The biker was shooting at the cabin, the glass back window imploding with a crash and Furiosa ducking down once again. He could hear the screams of pure terror coming from the cabin, from the women inside, and something inside him snapped. His tactical mind was just switched off, his head filled with a burning red, near blinding rage. A rage focused on the biker, still firing his gun. How dare he. How dare he endanger a group of unarmed women, only seeking a place to be free of tyranny. Looking at the path ahead of him, Cayden saw a sharp ramp, and he knew exactly what to do to end this threat, to satisfy his uncontrollable blood lust.

Blasting forward, Cayden sped towards the mound, hand tight on the wheel as he holstered his gun, quickly placing his fist alongside its brother in carefully directing the sleek death machine. He felt the jolt as the car met the ramp, shaking him in his seat but doing nothing to change his decision. Rising quickly, he gave some last second twitches to the wheel, before the control was gone, and he began to sail through the air. The weightless feeling served to shake him from the fiery anger in his body, and his eyes spun around in his head, taking everything in for a split second. He saw the Rig, fully ahead of him now, growing closer with rapid speed. He saw the biker, slowly turning and raising his arms in some poor attempt at a shield. He saw into the cabin, taking in the staring faces that greeted him, shock clear on all of them. And then he saw her. Nestled in a corner, brown eyes filled with amazement and joy, as though his being there was the greatest thing in the world. He took it all in, time slowing down as he saw where he was headed, his mind finally coming back to work again.

There was no way he would be able to land this. The angle of the jump was wrong, he'd glance off the Rig and go spinning, with no chance of recovery. Even if he didn't, the car would still go straight into the ground, his survival rate low for either option. There was only one choice, one possible way of raising the likelihood of him surviving.

Jump.

He moved quickly, his body seeming to move faster than it ever had before. Maybe it was reflexes, maybe it was adrenaline, Cayden didn't care. Knocking the door open with his legs, he hurled himself out, fingertips brushing over and grabbing onto his jacket as he threw himself into the air. His timing couldn't have been more perfect, with the car and biker disappearing over the side of the Rig in the same second that he hit the metal. His legs took the main impact, and he rolled, hand scrabbling for a grip as he fell into the gap between cabin and tanker. His fingers caught on a pipe and he held on, using every ounce of his strength to stop himself from falling beneath the massive wheels of the Rig. Pulling himself up, he leant against the heated metal as he caught his breath. His fingers were badly bruised, his legs cried out at the force they'd been subjected to, and the bullet wound in his arm throbbed painfully. But, somehow, he was alive. Cayden sucked in a deep breath, fighting the urge to laugh out loud. He was _alive!_

As he closed his eyes, a loud crash reached his ears, and his eyes snapped open, suddenly remembering. _He_ may have survived, but only at the expense of his car. Standing up on shaky legs, he peered around the huge body of the Rig's tanker, searching for his ride but met instead with a ball of flames. He stared in horror at what remained of the car, his mind piecing together what had happened. The impact must have set off the booby trap, had ignited the fuel, which had led to the flaming wreckage he was left looking at. Cayden closed his eyes, his jacket, which he had somehow held on to, clenched tightly in his fists, as he mourned the demise of his oldest friend. Despite it being a mere vehicle, a tool to most, he had grown attached to it, building it when he was little kore than a child and adding to it over the years, turning it into one of the greatest cars to roam the Wasteland. It had saved his life more times than he could count, certainly more often than any other human had, and had accompanied him all across the desert. Losing something so crucial to his life, so instrumental in making him the man he was today, hurt. He said his final goodbye, staring at the still smoking shell, and turned away, forcing the pain from his mind as he returned to the present. There was still work to be done.

The sound of an engine drew Cayden's attention. From behind the Rig, through the smoke of his car and the flaming remains of the fuel pod, (he hadn't even noticed its detonation), emerged a new car. It was monstrous, made up of two car bodies fused together, balanced atop a set of massive wheels. Cayden recognised it in an instant, would have done even without the easily identifiable driver. It was the Gigahorse. The second most deadly weapon in the Citadel's arsenal, and the personal transport of the Immortan Joe. And there he was, huddled behind the wheel, surrounded by his sons and a handful of War Boys (including one unsettlingly familiar one, although Cayden didn't know that), and staring at the Rig's cabin, searching for his target. Cayden thought he looked like some sort of crazed animal, hunting its prey, although the yellow teeth mask and white saggy flesh made him seem more like a decaying monster, pursuing relentlessly and without mercy, for target and ally alike. As the monstrous car approached, pulling closer alongside the Rig, Cayden played with grip of his shotgun, questions racing through his head. Could he hit the man from this range? How about now? Should he target a specific point, or just fire and hope for the best? The car was alongside him now, and the young man could see the old creature raise his weapon, ignoring him and aiming into the cabin, his focus easily identifiable to the dark-haired warrior. He was focused on Furiosa, ready to kill the woman who had 'stolen his property'.

As Cayden gripped the hilt of his gun, ready to draw it smoothly and kill the decrepit monster, he heard a clang of metal, the sound of a door opening. Peering carefully around the curve of the cabin, he saw Angharad, holding open the door and shielding Furiosa with her own body, the arms of another Wife keeping her in place. Cayden praised her bravery, but cursed the danger she was in. Joe was clearly mad, the theft of his prized breeders obviously angering him past the point of reason. If push came to shove, he doubted that the man wouldn't shoot one of the women in order to kill their liberator, even if that woman was carrying his child. After all, to a twisted mind like the Immortan, he could always make more. As Joe spoke, Cayden's fear and anger grew, reaching a boiling point when the child was referred to as 'my property'. The young man possessed a soft spot in his heart for children; innocent beings, oblivious to the evils of the world, and to hear one, even unborn, even the offspring of a tyrannical maniac, described in such a way sickened him. He raised his gun, unknowingly alongside Furiosa, and fired, the two weapons spitting out their loads one after the other. Both shots rang true, and would have ended the battle right there, had one of Joe's sons not leapt in their way, turning his back into a bloody canvas and preserving the ungrateful life hidden inside the car.

As the enemy fell back, hoping to escape further onslaught, Cayden pulled himself around the Rig, swinging on a jutting pipe and bringing himself into sight of Angharad. Her face, confused at first from the unknown gunman, quickly split into a massive grin, delight shining in her eyes. She reached out her hand, and Cayden did the same, locking fists for a second, her smooth and small one clenched in his hardened paw, before she was pulled back inside and the door closed, leaving Cayden alone and clinging to the metal. Hauling himself back behind the cabin, he moved to a more secure position and waited. Joe would attack again before long, of that there was no doubt.

Using the lull in combat to his advantage, Cayden quickly checked himself over. He had shaken off most of the damage from his less than graceful dismount, the ache in his legs the only reminder. The bullet in his arm still throbbed, but, since it was holding back the blood from spurting out, he refused to touch it yet, instead sliding on his jacket and choosing to deal with it later. Turning his attention to his gun, Cayden cursed under his breath. Only one shotgun shell was left, and his extras had been stashed on the now lost car. Sighing, he clicked the gun shut and holstered it once more. One shot left, better make it count. Peering through the cabin's back window, he took stock of the others. All still alive, all looking uninjured. The two warriors in the front paid no attention to him, if they had noticed his presence at all, focused instead on escaping their predicament. Despite this, he got some smiles and kind looks from the Wives, Angharad still beaming and Toast staring at him with a strange expression, several tears having rolled down her cheeks. Concerned, he was about to ask what was wrong, before the cabin shook, and he turned his attention forward, mind switching into battle readiness. Save the concern until they were out of danger.

The Gigahorse had landed in front of the Rig, performing a much more successful attempt than Cayden had, and were now seemingly leading the giant. He saw a giant man, Joe's son Rictus Erectus, turn the car's harpoon turret around, taking aim and firing into the cabin. The occupants shook, none, thankfully, having been struck by the barbed spike. Instead, it had imbedded itself into the steering wheel, cutting the skull decoration almost in half and preventing the feral from changing the Rig's direction. As the feral and the Imperator tried to wrench the harpoon from out of the wheel, unsuccessfully due to the depth the spike had sunk, Cayden's eyes followed the movements of Joe. They had started to fall back, dropping alongside the Rig but leaving the harpoon cable intact. He realised too late what they were planning, the wheel of the Rig coming loose a split second later and flying backwards, the feral's hand trapped in between it and the Rig's metal frame. They were trying to make the Rig lose control, make it easier to take down without destroying it and reclaim the Wives. Grimacing at the idea, as well as at the feral's pained grunts, Cayden pulled himself to the other side of the cabin, closer to the cable, in order to figure out a way to help. When he arrived, however, he paused at what he found. It seemed he wasn't the only one to have the idea of assisting.

Angharad was once again outside the Rig, held in place by the Wives and holding the giant pair of bolt cutters, positioning them and pulling desperately at the two levers, trying to snap the chain that was being pulled ever tighter. Cayden could only stay where he was, watching. There was nothing he could do to help right then, nowhere to move to support the straining woman. Nevertheless, he eased himself along the side of the Rig, moving closer to her, as close as he could. If she slipped, he had to be there to catch her. An eternity seemed to pass, with the bolt cutters' blades slowly sinking in to the thin metal tube, bringing it closer to snapping. Eventually, Angharad succeeded, the link breaking and the remnants of the cable falling, although Cayden saw the wheel go flying out from the Rig's window, the strength of the pull too strong for it to resist. Since they hadn't crashed, he had to trust that an alternative means of control had been established, easing the worry on his mind. That is, until he saw the rock.

In the confusion to get rid of the harpoon cable, as well as the weight of the Gigahorse pulling the Rig slowly to the side of the road, they had drifted towards several rocky pillars, too close to escape from in time. Cayden saw Angharad try to pull herself back in, the arms of the Wives assisting her efforts, but she had lost her balance, the other women only managing to stop her from falling into the sand. As they neared the rocks, the detail of every crag and spine growing clearer, Cayden acted. He wrapped one arm around the pregnant woman's midsection, pulling her towards him and spinning into cover in the same second as impact, the pair falling onto the metal of the Rig and the young warrior shielding the woman from debris. He felt shards of rock bounce off his jacket, although none dug in, and held his position until the threat had passed. Helping Angharad up, Cayden pressed a hand to her belly for a second, checking for damage, before nodding, moving around and helping place her hands securely on the metal framework of the Rig. As she began her climb back around, towards the still open doorway, he kept a hand on her back, careful to keep her in place. Only when she was finally secure, holding on to the metal door, did he let his hand drop, feeling that she was safe.

He could not have been more wrong.

He felt the door break before he heard it, the vibration snaking up his leg as he quickly spun. He saw Angharad's face, fear as clear as day in her eyes, before the hinge snapped and she fell away, the door, her only anchor, being dragged down with her. Reaching out, hr desperately grabbed for one of her flailing hands, trying to grip her and pull her back to safety again. For the briefest of seconds, their fingers met, his frantically trying to curl around hers and grab her, before she was pulled away and fell. As her hand left his, Cayden finally spotted her leg. The wound was worse, almost the entirety of her flesh beneath it coated in a crimson red, shining in the sunlight. She must have slipped on the metal, putting too much strain on the door. He should have noticed sooner, should have been ready. He screamed out, a primal noise of rage and pain, as he watched her descent, finding it impossible to tear his eyes away. She hit the sand, rolled, and disappeared, vanishing underneath one of the Gigahorse's oversized tyres. As she was obscured, the flipping body of the giant car hiding her fate from his eyes, Cayden sunk down, arm dropping to his side and all the energy suddenly leaving his body, collapsing against the metal surface of the Rig. He heard the screams of the Wives inside, heard the futile argument as they pleaded with the feral to stop the Rig, and the cries of anguish that arose from his refusal. But he didn't care.

The Rig finally left the canyon, leaving the rocks and remnants of battle behind for the flat desert. But Cayden didn't see. All he saw was the look on Angharad's face as she vanished, the blood on her leg, the wheel of the car. And his ears were filled with three words, steadily growing louder and louder until they resonated like a war drum through his head.

 _"You promised me."_

 **And there ends the battle of the canyon**

 **I'm sorry to those who wanted Angharad kept alive, but her death really is pivotal to the story. I hate myself for including it, but it really is important**

 **RIP Angharad, and Cayden's car, you will always be remembered**

 **Anyways, thanks for reading, and I'll talk to you next time**

 **TimeFury1347**


	12. Chapter 10

Cayden had not moved from his position on the Rig, half collapsed against its metal surface. His feet dangled over the gap that led to the tanker, only a few feet above the swirling sand of the Wasteland. His face was blank, eyes unfocused as they stared at the ground, his body uncaring of the sun beating down on him, of the jostling movement of the Rig, or of the final disappearance of the mountains, having slowly vanished over the horizon as the small group had travelled into the desert. He had not moved and, to anyone watching, he could have been mistaken for a corpse, the slow rise and fall of his chest the only indication of life in him. But, while his body lay unmoving, uncaring of the world around it, his mind worked, the once well-oiled machine having slowly fallen apart, piece by piece.

Angharad was dead. Of that, there was no doubt. Cayden had watched the woman fall, had seen her hit the ground and vanish under the wheels of Joe's car. No one could have survived that, not even the hardiest of road warriors, and so this simple fact remained, almost mocking in its certainty. It was the only point in the young man's mind that remained unmoving, firm in its authority and at the centre of his other thoughts, which whirled though the air like grains of sand, desperately searching for something to latch on to, something to install some sense of order. Guilt tainted each of these twirling thoughts, a guilt that was slowly filling Cayden with every passing second. Angharad was dead, and it was his fault. He was responsible. The events played out in his mind on a seemingly eternal loop, as he was forced to relive the experience, again and again. Her foot, soaked in crimson, slipping on the metal. The door, placed under more strain than its creators had ever intended it to bear, pulling away from the Rig's body. Her hand, soft fingers searching desperately, slipping through his own as if in slow motion, his fist too far away and closing too slowly for any chance of survival. His eyes burned as tears gathered, his mind refusing to allow them to fall. He did not deserve to feel sorry, when it was his fault in the first place. He should have been faster, should have stretched his arm out further, should have ensured she make it back into the safety of the metal cabin. Hell, if he had only insisted on bandaging the wound in her leg, instead of assuming another would take care of it, he could have prevented the whole _fucking_ _thing!_ There was no one to blame but himself, no one who could be held accountable. He had promised to protect the pregnant woman, to ensure that she and her child had the chance to live in freedom and peace, away from the hell she had fled, and he had failed. He had broken his promise to her, and was now paying the price, one he could never repay.

His mind called back the dream he had had only a few hours ago, although it felt like centuries. He thought of her in that nightmare; bloodied, bruised and accusing, and cursed his idiocy. It wasn't a dream, it was a warning. A warning he had failed to listen to, and had allowed to come to pass because of it. He hadn't heeded the warning, and now she was lost, the newest addition to the voices that haunted him, the voices of those he had failed to save, whose promises he had broken. The number was more than he could bear, weighing him down like a mountain on his shoulders, and his body shook, the pent-up tears and pain finally being allowed to fall, too great in strength for him to hold back any longer. So many dead. So many lost because he had failed to do what was needed. When he had first set out, young and the screams of those he had lost still fresh in his mind, he had sworn to himself that he would help others, that he wouldn't turn out like Joe, and that he would make his family proud of who he would become. And now, the memory was so painful that he felt like he could barely breathe. He had tried to help, so many times he had tried to help, but the ashes of his failures had swept over his whole life, permeating and perverting every good deed he had ever performed. He had more blood on his hands than nearly anyone else in the Wasteland, and he knew that, had his family survived to this day, they would be disgusted by the man he had grown into. He had been born from the remains of a life destroyed by a monster, and now he was little better than the monster who had set him on this path, who had brought so much pain to himself and others.

The Immortan Joe.

As the name swam through his mind, Cayden felt his body start to shake with rage, the guilt he had been feeling boiling into a pure, burning hatred. That monster was the cause of this. It had wiped his family, his entire _life_ , off the face of the earth with not even a second though, had turned the people of the Wasteland into his own private slave force, and had subjected the innocent women barely a foot away to so much pain and humiliation. He had caused the fight, had started the road war, had been responsible for the battle which had taken Angharad's life. And why? Because someone had stolen his _property_ , the pitiful excuse of a child. Clenching his teeth to stop himself from growling, his jaw working to the point of cracking, Cayden's head was swarmed with thoughts of killing the rotted old creature, each one more horrific and gruesome than the last. That monster deserved it, and so much more. He would enjoy ripping him apart, making him pay in blood for every single life he had crushed beneath his boot, and then force him to watch as Cayden tore apart his empire in front of his eyes, rock by rock, War Boy by War Boy, until nothing was left but bone and dust, erasing even the very memory of it from the Wasteland.

He didn't know how long he had been in this rage-induced state, before a soft sound behind him snapped him out of it, the red mist receding. Turning his head, feeling the tightness on his skin from the dried tears tracks, Cayden saw only the rear of the Rig's cabin, but he knew what he had heard. One of the Wives, the word tasted unusually rotten on his lips, was crying, presumably Cheedo if the barest hint of recognition was accurate. A new soft sound was heard not long after, a muffled hum as one of the others comforted her, although he could not distinguish the owner of this voice. That simple noise, however, had been enough to shatter Cayden's dark thoughts of hatred, the shards falling back into the corners of his mind. Suddenly, he felt disgusted with himself. He had allowed his mind to fill with self-pity and anger, had become so focused on one feeling, on his own revenge, that he had forgotten his true promise, and those he had sworn it to. The other women, who had run to be free of the Citadel alongside Angharad. His promise had been to all of them, each and every one, and he had almost abandoned it in his fury. They still needed his help, still needed his skill and protection in order to reach their freedom. Picturing Angharad's face, not the nightmare but his memory, crawling out from under to Rig to see her looking down on him, when her eyes were so filled with hope, he fought to settle his mind. She may be gone, and her voice may haunt him until the end of his days, but he still had a chance to fulfil his promise, to right his wrongs and maybe bring himself some small measure of peace. He would protect these women, these beacons of light in the darkness, until his dying breath. His vengeance could wait another day, and he refused to break his word purely due to his anger. He had done so once, never again. Leaning against the warm metal of the Rig, he felt a new resolved in his heart. He would not fail this time.

Cayden began to let his eyelids droop down, slowly surrounding himself with a comforting blanket of sleep, before the Rig shook, jerking him in his position and making him sit up, the weariness chased from his bones and his mind quickly coming to attention. The Rig was stopping. The sharp cutting of the engines, combined with the feral's muffled growl, told Cayden all he needed to know. The Rig had taken damage in the battle, the fire obviously having had a greater effect than he had anticipated. Standing up, stretching out and hearing the cracks as his back shifted into place, Cayden turned and clambered up and over the cabin's roof, moving to see what he could of the engines. There were ugly black marks on the bonnet from where the fire had raged, the metal having started to melt or warp under the heat in some places. If he had to guess, Cayden would say that the fire had overheated or melted some of the engines' inner workings, with the sand used to put out the fire, as well as the force of the impact from the bombs, serving to add more to this. A quick, if tedious, repair job at most, just to knock some parts back into their proper alignment and dislodge whatever dusty residue had been left behind. Cayden quickly slid down the metal side of the Rig, rolling as he hit the ground, careful of the bandages wrapped around him, and was beginning to approach Furiosa with his analysis, before a commotion behind him drew his attention.

Three of the Wives, he really did have to come up with a new, less tainted name for them, were running across the sand, back the way the Rig had just come. Cayden saw Capable's fiery red hair, as well as the Dag's pale blonde mane, while, ahead of them, the shock of ebony clearly denoted Cheedo. From where he was, he could see how Cheedo was running from the other two, although the distance between was quickly being reduced. He sighed. He understood why Cheedo was running, he truly did. The poor girl had been frightened from the moment she left the Citadel, left the way of life she had lived for all of hers, and had likely been frightened well before as well. Even without prior knowledge, Cayden had easily been able to tell that she was the youngest of the group. She had probably never lived a day in her life in the Wasteland and, whilst he and many others had grown accustomed to it, the Wasteland really was terrifying when experienced for the first time, the stressful circumstances surrounding the young women doing nothing to help ease that. The loss of Angharad, the leader of the group, must have been the tipping point, Cayden realised with a heavy heart, and now the girl wanted to go back, back to the slavery she had known instead of to the freedom she had only dreamed of, the place Angharad to died trying to reach. Turning fully, the young warrior began to move towards the trio, first walking and then running, desperate to catch up and save the lost girl from perhaps the greatest mistake possible, Angharad's words clear in his head.

 _"Cheedo is… well, she's the youngest of us, and easily the most scared. She wants to be free, certainly, but in truth she only agreed to come because all of us were going, and she didn't want to be left alone with Joe. And it's only gotten worse since then. She's completely lost in this world, and needs the most help from all of us. If she's given the chance, I don't doubt that she'll go running back to the Citadel. And we can't let that happen."_

The memory clear in his mind, Cayden picked up the pace, running towards the three women as fast as his legs would allow. The Dag and Capable had managed to catch up with their fragile sister, and he saw the group struggle against each other, with snippets of their shouting falling back through the air. Most of the words were unintelligible, although Cayden was able to pick out a few phrases, most of them recognisable from his conversation with Angharad. 'We are not slaves' was the most familiar, and he truly realised how hard Cheedo was fighting to go back, if she was willing to disregard their lost leader's words of resistance. As Cheedo screamed out 'Angharad!', the cry of grief wrenching at his heart, Cayden finally spotted exactly what the scared girl was running for. A motorbike was headed towards them, thankfully the only vehicle in the area aside from the Rig. As the back rider reached out his arms, mere seconds from reaching the three women, a boom ripped through the air, and Cayden, ducking his head down, saw the two War Boys fly off the back of the bike. Turning slowly, he spotted the distant figure of Furiosa, lowering the sniper rifle she had clutched in her hands. Thankful for the sudden intervention, he turned and finished his trek over to the now silent women. They were staring at the still, bloodied corpses of the War Boys, the same realisation crossing each of their faces. Whatever chance they had once had to leave was now gone. Turning back was no longer an option.

As he arrived, Cayden quickly took in the shocked women, checking their body language. The Dag and Capable had their arms wrapped around Cheedo, preventing her from fleeing further from the Rig, although they visibly relaxed when they spotted him. The prevention wasn't needed, he noticed with a quick glance. Cheedo had stopped moving, her eyes still fixed on the crashed motorcycle, while her body slumped forward, help up only by the other two women. She looked ready to pass out, and Cayden knew that, if her support was removed, she would do exactly that, all the fight seeming to have left her body. Moving in front of the trio, between them and what they had become near fixated on, Cayden delicately laid his hands on Cheedo's arms, looping through them and nodding to the other women to release their grip. They did, and the young girl collapsed, the warrior holding her dangerously light body up off the ground, supporting her while her muscles refused to do so.

Turning his head to the two women, who were now just standing and watching him cradle their sister, Cayden spoke, his words gentle yet firm.

"Head back over to the Rig. We'll be there soon."

The two shared a quick look, spending a second on making sure Cheedo wasn't going to fall into the sand, before turning and walking back to the large metal truck. They sent Cayden a set of sad smiles as they did so, which he returned, while the pair drew next to each other as they walked, each seeking comfort from the other.

Watching them go for a second, Cayden shifted his focus back onto the unresponsive girl in his arms. She hadn't moved, her eyes blank and empty, he entire being seeming depleted of any energy. Lowering her carefully down to the sand, he sat beside her, arm wrapped around her shoulder as they just sat, looking in the direction of the Rig and the other members of their party. There was silence for several long moments, with Cheedo still unmoving and Cayden summoning his thoughts, arranging them into coherent words in his head. Finally, he spoke, his voice softer than it had been in a while.

"I had a family once."

Whether it was his words, the sound of his voice, or some other factor, Cheedo slowly moved, head tilting upwards to look at the young warrior. Feeling the movement against his chest, Cayden continued.

"It was a long time ago now. Back before I ever thought I'd become like this. We lived in a mountain, with a few other people. Barely more than a cave and a few shacks, but there was a fire and walls and water. It wasn't much to look at, but it was home."

Risking a glance down, he saw how the young woman was staring up at him, soaking in his words. Some of the energy seemed to have returned to her body, and her face, while tinged with a trace amount of fear, was filled more with inquisition and exhaustion than anything else. Marshalling his thoughts, preparing for what came next, Cayden pressed on.

"And for a while, I was happy. We all were. We had each other, we had a peaceful community. Life was good. But then _he_ came…"

Cayden trailed off, squeezing his eyes closed as tears threatened to fall. The memory of what he had lost still pained him, the faces of his family still clear in his mind, forever tainted by the sadness and guilt he still felt over their loss. He took a deep, slightly shuddering breath.

"…and it all fell apart. My family, my friends, even that cave. All gone. And I was so _scared_."

Tilting his head down, he caught Cheedo's eye fully, staring down at her. The young woman stated back up, the slight glimmer of tears beginning to prick her eyes.

"See, you… remind me of myself, when I first started out. Losing my whole world, thrust into a new and scary one, with a set of very different rules that I had no idea how to tackle, saddled with the pain of those I had lost. But you know what I did? I kept going. One foot in front of the other, one day after another, on and on and on, until now."

He gently pulled Cheedo close to him, feeling her body begin to shake as the grief slowly caught up with her.

"Angharad is gone. And I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry. But this isn't what she would have wanted. It's not what she risked everything for, what she gave her life for. And you need to remember that, for your sake if not hers."

The girl was clearly crying now, great sobs wracking her body. Pulling her into him, Cayden wrapped his arms around her, holding her to his chest as she wept. He was somewhat surprised at her arms snaking around his midsection, as well as the surprising amount of force with which she squeezed him, but he didn't let it show.

"I know it hurts. Believe me, I do. And I know how it seems so hard to just keep going. But you need to let go of that fear, that pain that's stopping you. I can't promise that it will get any easier, but just remember: Angharad loved you, and that will help. You'll find your peace, just as she had found hers."

Tears were streaking down his face now, but he brushed them away, letting Cheedo cry. Eventually, the cries subsided, her arms relaxed, and the young girl fell asleep, the sobs seeming to have completely tired her out. Cayden said nothing, but carefully picked her up, holding her in his arms like a child as he stood and began the walk back to the Rig. As he walked, he looked down at his light charge, her face so peaceful despite the glittering trails, and he sighed. Despite his words and the hopeful affect they would have, he would have to keep an eye on Cheedo, at least until they fully outstripped the War Boys and reached 'the Green Place'. She was still jumpy, and Cayden refused to let her throw herself back into the meaningless existence of a breeder. Taking in the girl's face, he felt a fresh wave of resolve flow over him. The Citadel would crumble into dust before he let such a thing happen.

Reaching the Rig, Cayden walked around to the cabin, ignoring the looks being sent his way by the others in the group, and pulled himself through the doorway, Cheedo balanced carefully in his arms. Sliding over the battered seat, he laid down the girl gently onto the surface, lying her down to sleep on the battered leather. Pulling away, he took in the young girl's face one last time as she slept. She looked so serene like this, the weight on her shoulders gone in her slumber. Smoothing her hair, he gave a soft smile before clambering out back into the sand. The girl really was growing on him, reminding him, despite her earlier words, of his little sister, or at least what he could still recall of her with any accuracy. As fragile as glass, looking to break under the pressure of a feather, but in possession of an inner strength she didn't know of. Cayden hoped that his words would serve to bring this to the surface, but he wasn't certain. There was still a long way to go with the little waif, and he doubted that words alone would provide her with the mettle she would need to survive.

Dropping back down to the desert floor, Cayden let his eyes roam over the group, taking a few moments to check on the rest of them. Furiosa and the feral were standing by the Rig's great engines, exchanging tools as they worked on repairing the great beast. Since they weren't examining the bonnet, he assumed that they hadn't noticed that area of damage or, if they had, they were working on another section, working their way up. He decided to go over and assist once he was done, as three sets of hands would be better than two. Securing this in his mind, going over what repairs would be needed, he turned to check on the three remaining women. The Dag and Capable were sitting in the shadow of the tanker, pulled close to each other as they mourned the loss of their friend. Turning his head further along the Rig's body, Cayden's eyes finally came to rest on the final escapee. Toast was stood leaning against the rear of the large tanker, half in shadow and half in sunlight, as she looked out across the desert, staring in the same direction Cheedo had tried to escape to. Pausing for a moment, he moved over to the lonely woman, footsteps making almost no sound as he drew near.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his words soft and quiet in their inquiry. Toast jumped slightly, his presence suddenly being made known to her. She turned and, catching his eye, offered a small smile, although it never reached her eyes.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just…thinking." She offered in reply, her voice far quieter than earlier, and laced with loss. Cayden couldn't quite tell what was going through her head, but had some idea over the pain she felt, the same pain as the others.

"I'm so sorry about Angharad. She was a truly great woman." This barely came out as a whisper, but it seemed Toast still heard it. Her shoulders visibly sagged, her face dropping to stare at her feet. Cayden pushed on. "She told me all about you, all of you, and what life at the Citadel was like. I'm so sorry about everything you've had to go through, especially now."

His voice faltered at the look of pain on Toast's face, tears slowly rolling down her cheeks as she tried to control her breathing. Without thinking, Cayden pulled her towards him, wrapping his arm around her the same way as he had Cheedo. The young woman didn't respond for a second, before slowly snaking her arms around him. There were no great sobs, no wrenching gasps for air. Only the occasional sniffle reached his ears, with his jacket muffling even these. He rubbed her back as she cried, doing everything in his, admittedly limited, experience of comforting others. Her hug was different from the one he had shared with Cheedo, less desperate clinging and more a soft seeking of stability and support. They stood there for several minutes, Toast holding onto the worn leather of his jacket and Cayden rubbing her back, waiting patiently for her to let go. Eventually, the light sobs dissipated, and the pair pulled apart. Toast's eyes, although red from salty tears, shined with gratitude as she looked up at the young road warrior.

"Thanks." She murmured, shifting slightly on her feet and her cheeks tinged with red, embarrassment obvious over what had happened.

Smiling slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards, Cayden was about to reply when he heard Furiosa call to him from by the Rig's engine. Sending a quick 'it's fine' to Toast, he turned and moved over to the engine, his mind finally catching up with him as he walked, constantly playing over what had just happened. Running through the confusing sensations in his head, he reached the engine, the two veteran road warriors huddled around and carefully tweaking it back to life. Barely looking up, the Imperator passed him an assortment of tools, while the feral pointed at the section of engine he had noticed earlier. Pulling himself up the metal body, he leaned over the engine. Staring down at the mechanical mess before him, he sighed. He had a lot of work to do.

After a long while, with the sun having begun to disappear over the horizon, the Rig was moving again, the damage it had taken in its latest battle fixed with the help of the three road warriors that made up part of its small group of occupants. The two oldest members of the group sat up front, staring out at the landscape with calculating eyes and occasionally exchanging a handful of words about where they were headed. The remainder sat in the back, resting against the worn seat as the movement of the metal monolith slowly rocked them.

Toast sat hunched over, her hands reaching into the bag that rested on her lap. Furiosa had passed it to her with the instruction of counting out how much ammunition the group still possessed for any future fights with Joe. As she worked, the numbers slowly growing in her head, she let out a small sigh. There wasn't much left of any ammo, with the largest amount being almost thirty bullets for a small revolver, and only three shots left for the large sniper rifle, the most powerful weapon of the lot. Not good odds against a War Party in control of thousands of bullets for hundreds of blood thirsty psychopaths. There were a handful of shotgun shells, and Toast had made sure to grab a few for Cayden, just in case. After all hr had done for them, it was the least she could do.

Her mind dragged itself back to the topic of the road warrior. He occupied a significant part of her thoughts, most of which made no sense to her. He wasn't even in the Rig with them, having returned to his position behind the cabin when they set off. He hadn't offered a word of reason as to why he had chosen to do so, only asking for a needle and a few strips of cloth for bandages. She hadn't known why until he had slipped off his jacket. His left arm, just above the elbow, was injured, his shirt soaked red around the wound and stuck to his flesh. He must have been injured in the canyon, she realised, only now choosing the treat the wound. That thought alone served to send a tendril of guilt through her, thinking of the pain he must have felt, especially when holding her.

The hug. The memory of it, of him supporting her, holding her close to him as she wept, confused her the most, the recollection serving to dust her cheeks with and embarrassed red that she hoped the others hadn't seen. The embarrassment she could understand, she didn't exactly make a habit of relying on others to hold her up, but the assorted feelings that came with it made her head spin, and she couldn't properly pin any of them down. She had felt safe in his embrace, yes, and it had further highlighted his kind heart, certainly. But that didn't explain the emotions she never even knew she had, the sensations she had never experienced before. She pushed the confusing jumble from her head. It made no sense now, and she had other things to do. It could wait until later.

"I'm going to make some repairs." Furiosa said suddenly, breaking Toast from her inner struggle as she pulled on a bandolier laden with tools. A flash of red in the corner of her eye, and Toast spotted Capable slowly moving in her seat, sitting up straighter as she addressed the warrior woman.

"I'll go keep watch." She said quickly, reaching to the floor of the Rig and picking up the large set of binoculars.

"No, I want you all here." Furiosa said, the steel in her voice prominent. "Besides, I'm sure Cayden would be willing to do so instead."

"It's fine, really. I want to go. And besides, Cayden must be exhausted. Let him rest." Toast had to smirk at that. Capable truly didn't know when to give up her point. Furiosa seemed to be weighing the options for a minute, clearly disliking the idea.

"Fine," she said at last, the reluctance clear in her tone, "but be careful." And with that she was gone, lowering herself out the door to get at the Rig's under carriage. Capable moved too, carefully manoeuvring around the sleeping forms of Cheedo and the Dag, before pulling herself out and around the empty doorway, a constant reminder of how Angharad had fallen. Toast watched the pair go, before turning her attention back to the bag. All the ammunition was counted and committed to memory after a few minutes. She just had to wait until Furiosa returned to inform her of the figures.

The sound of the door beside her opening made Toast lift her head to look. Cayden had appeared in the opening, jacket back on and the ruby light of sunset playing through his dark brown hair. Pausing for a second, Toast quickly pulled herself along the back seat, giving the young man space to slide in, almost collapsing on the battered bench. Nodding in thanks, he closed his eyes for a few moments, and the young woman used the opportunity to properly take him in. His hands, still wrapped in strips of her skirt, didn't look to be bleeding, the dark red stains on them not looking to have grown since when she had tied the makeshift bandages around his fists. She saw a flash of white through a hole in his jacket, and guessed that he had succeeded in patching up his wound. Moving her eyes up his body, she finally took in his face. The bandana was still wrapped around his forehead, covering the nasty gash she knew to be there, while the other wounds on his face had long since healed, appearing as light scars across his features. His eyes were partly sunken, with large bags under them, and she knew that he must be exhausted. About to turn away, she froze when he spoke, voice also laced with tiredness.

"How many we got?" he almost whispered, gesturing vaguely to the bag she still held in her hands.

"…Not enough." She replied after a time, the numbers quickly being pulled to the forefront of her mind. "Three for the sniper, about 30-ish for this little guy," she dangled the small revolver between her thumb and forefinger, "and even less for the others."

"Well then," Cayden replied, the hint of a smile on his face, "let's just hope the War Boys are bad shots."

Letting out a light laugh, Toast turned to him again, a comeback ready on her lips, only to see how he had finally fallen asleep, his chest rising and falling deeply as he fell into a slumber. Setting the bag on the metal floor again, she leaned over to him, sliding the handful of shotgun shells she had in her hand into the pocket of his jacket. A yawn forced its way out of her throat as she did so, and she began to relax, curling up on the seat and unconsciously using Cayden's torso as a headrest. The worn leather was warm and comfortable, with a faint odour of oil, and she let her eyelids droop shut. Rest would be a rarity over the next few days, she knew this for certain, so any she could get would be needed. And the Rig drove on, through the lingering twilight.

 **Phew, that was far longer than I thought it was gonna be! I'm not sure how common a chapter like this is gonna be in the future, so don't get your hopes up!**

 **There is gonna be a drop in updates over the next month or so, since my exams really are looming over me right now, but I'll do what I can to continue the story.**

 **Anyways, hope you all enjoyed this, and I'll see you (metaphorically speaking) next time**

 **TimeFury1347**


	13. Chapter 11

Night had finally fallen over the Wasteland, the burning sun replaced with a chilling moon and ghostly white light turning the desert into a cold, dark graveyard of bones and scrap, the memories of what was before. But this could not be seen by those on the Rig. All that the occupants could see was grey sand bleached of all colour, lying beneath a dark and cloudy sky. Mist drifted around the metal monster, turning the world into the land of ghosts, through which the living passed. Cayden stared out the window, watching the wispy air dance and twist, slowly growing and shrinking as they drove by. He had no desire to move from his position on the seat, watching the shadowy land, not too different from the one he roamed in his dreams, roll by the window. Even if he had felt the need for movement, the small weight against his chest and stomach made such a thing impossible. He glanced down at the curled-up figure of Toast, using his body as a warm resting place, and took in her face, his mind working over the woman beside him, using the silence and a chance to think, to pin down his thoughts surrounding her. But, as with previous attempts, this proved to be a very difficult task to perform.

The jumbled thoughts that kept running through his head had only increased in their intensity since he had woken up and discovered his entrapment. He had thought that he had some sort of order before, but seeing her next to him had acted like a blazing fire, destroying any progress he had made. The close proximity, the warmth, the level of _trust_ she was displaying for him, it all served to completely flip his mind. His sleep hadn't helped either. He had dreamed of a darkened land again, with shadowy figures screaming out to him. However, before he had a chance to fall too far into the dark, a bright light had appeared from nowhere, chasing the shadows away. He had turned towards the light, and seen her, standing in a brilliant golden aura. Her face was bright and clear, and he could do nothing but stare, his entire being engulfed by her presence, by her beauty. It hadn't been long after that until he was pulled back from the land of dreams to reality, to first notice the warm body beside him, and to feel the swirling thoughts and feeling which had utterly overthrown his mind. None of them stayed at the forefront of his head long enough for him to examine, flitting away after a second or two and leaving him growing more and more irritated over their unknown nature.

The sensations running through his head, the sensations stemming from the brown haired young woman beside him, truly were mystifying. He had never experienced their like before, and was struggling to even identify them, let alone force them into some semblance of order. Even if they had remained still for any long period of time, he doubted that he would have the first idea of what to do with them. They were completely alien to him, appearing only to seemingly strive to mess with his head. But, in all honesty, he couldn't say that he truly minded them. Unlike the thoughts that emerged from his nightmares or from thoughts of his past, they didn't pain him, acting more like a soothing presence to cool his wilder emotions. They surrounded him like the heat of a warm fire, chasing away the demons that plagued his mind. And they all centred around Toast. Staring down at her face, content in sleep, he let a small smile play on his lips. The thoughts were irritating in his lack of understanding, but they had served to clear out the darker corners of his mind. He might not understand them, but clarity would come in time, a fact he had learnt from long experience. Acknowledging this, he closed his eyes, for once unafraid of the nightmares that had haunted him for so long. With Toast this close to him, he doubted they could hurt him anymore.

Just as Cayden's eyes finally closed, however, the whole Rig began to shake, and he snapped up, alert in an instant. Peering out the window and down to the ground, he could see that the Rig had entered a muddy section of land, the soft ground causing the metal beast to skid as it continued onwards, fighting to avoid the larger sections where there was a high risk of getting stuck. Cayden swore under his breath. This really was the last thing they needed, and, if they did get stuck, there was very little chance that they'd be able to escape before the War Party caught up with them. Turning back into the cabin, he saw that the jerking movements had served to wake up the rest of the Rig's occupants, eyes bleary with sleep looking around to find out what had pulled them from slumber. The weight on his torso lessened, and Cayden looked down to see that Toast had also been woken, eyes filled with realisation over what, or rather who, she had fallen asleep on, an obvious red blush of embarrassment covering her cheeks. Before he could say anything, the Rig came to a very sudden stop, getting stuck in the thick mud and sending its inhabitants jolting forward. Cayden's arm quickly snaked out to halt Toast and prevent ant injury, although he was not quick enough to do the same for himself, his head smacking into the back of the seat in front of him. He couldn't suppress the slight cry of pain as his forehead slammed into the metal, directly on his head wound, and he straightened up, hand flying to press delicately on the painfully throbbing flesh. Glancing at Toast quickly, he was relieved to see that she was unharmed, merely looking at him with gratitude and, after seeing his hand pressed to the bandana, concern. He waved aside her worries with a small smirk and low 'I'm fine', before looking forward to the feral at the wheel, who was working to shift the large metal machine out of its muddy prison.

The wheels spun in the mud, the engines groaned as if in pain, and fir a moment, Cayden feared that they wouldn't be able to get free in time. The seconds rolled by, slowly turning into minutes, and the Rig didn't move, as if refusing to continue the journey. Glancing out of the window, he could see the mud flying into the air, fired off the ground by the rapidly spinning wheels as they sought for purchase on the boggy ground. Turning back around, a glimpse in the Rig's wing mirror froze Cayden in his tracks, and he turned back, pushing open the door and swinging himself out, ignoring the voices of those calling out to him. Reaching to his belt, he grabbed hold of his binoculars which had, somehow, managed to stay on his person throughout the chaos in the canyon. He pulled them to his face and peered through. One of the lenses was completely broken, turning the device into more of a telescope, but Cayden's eyes widened at what he saw through the still functioning half. He had originally seen a small pinprick of light in the Rig's mirror, too low to be a star, and so had wanted a better look, disregarding the small amounts of mud that sprung up to him in doing so. Through the enhancing glass, he could see multiple dots of light, jostling ever so slightly, and knew what it meant. Joe's War Party. They had apparently managed to break through the rocky barricade faster than Furiosa had anticipated. Cayden cursed under his breath. Being stuck in the mud was bad enough, but with the enemy almost visible, the darkness being the only thing to conceal them, their situation was far worse. They needed to get out sooner rather than later if they wanted to survive. Fortunately, it did indeed turn out to be sooner.

As Cayden lowered the half-broken binoculars, the Rig gave a sudden lurch, and he almost fell off into the mud, his strong grip on the Rig helping his feet find a new surface to rest on after being sent flying into the air. He managed to pull himself back into the cabin, slamming the door firmly behind him, just as another lurching step forward rocked the Rig heavily. Solid ground had been found at last, and slowly, an inch at a time, the great metal beast dragged itself back onto the firm ground of the path, leaving the muddy quagmire behind as it began its journey onwards. Letting himself relax back against the worn seat, Cayden sat up swiftly once more when he felt a hand tapping on his leg. Confused, he looked up, right into the eyes of the feral, who pushed a small cylindrical box into his hands. Seeking answers, not recognising the device for a minute, he looked again to the strange man.

"Trap." He grunted, quickly turning back around and climbing out the passenger door, a similar device tucked under his arm. Cayden immediately understood the abrupt order. The box was a bomb, looking to detonate when driven over or stepped on by a heavy object. Pulling himself out the doorway once again, Cayden clambered along to the side of the tanker, bomb held safely in his jacket as he did so. Lowering himself down to less than a foot above the moving ground, he pulled out the trap and gently dropped it into the firm mud, careful to place it just outside the path of the wheels, far enough to avoid an accidental detonation, but near enough to still be on the thin pathway. He let out a small grin, staying in his position for a few more seconds to enjoy the cool breeze on his skin. Their pursuers were in for a nasty surprise when they caught up, with even only two traps capable of buying the Rig some time, since there would be no certainty among the War Boys over how many traps there were. Pulling himself back along and into the cabin, he flashed a quick smirk to the women who greeted him, before sinking once again into his seat. They had just succeeded in buying themselves some more time and distance, with the distant explosion reaching his ears a few minutes later, and were well on their way to losing their War Boy followers once and for all. That was until they found themselves in yet another section of soft mud.

Cayden cursed out loud, a rather imaginative string of profanities leaving his lips and causing more than one of the young women to turn red at his choice in language. He didn't notice though, since he had climbed out of the Rig, dropping down to the muddy ground and moving quickly towards the engines. The feral had clambered out as well, standing on top of the engines as he tossed down a large piece of metal to the Wasteland floor. It was part of the engines covering, and Cayden quickly grabbed it, dragging it along the ground towards the tyres. The feral and Toast soon joined him in manoeuvring the large sheet of metal, while the remaining women were doing the same on the opposite side, digging away and working to shift as much mud as they could away from the wheel, removing the barrier that had formed. Nearing the great armoured wheels, Cayden quickly took in just how far they had sunk in. A large amount of the wheels' lower halves had disappeared into the mud, with the engine only succeeding in digging them in further. Furiosa was still trying, gunning the engine in an attempt to escape, with only flying dirt and a horrific groaning sound from the V8 as a result. Cayden and the others quickly jammed the sheet of metal as far under the wheel as they could, trying to give it a firm footing to drive over. Finishing their work, they stepped back from the Rig, the feral slamming his hand against the tanker to signal Furiosa. The engine roared, the wheels spun, and for a moment it looked like they might succeed. But it wasn't enough. The wheels rose, but not far enough, slowly sinking back into their holes as the engines lost the battle. They were well and truly stuck.

The bark of a bullet rang out through the night air, and Cayden, as well as the rest of the group, spun in the direction of the noise. Behind the Rig, in roughly the direction they had been travelling from, but nothing was there. Only the thick mist greeted the small pack, concealing the source of the noise in its shadowy interior. Focusing his eyes on the mist, squinting until they were nearly closed to try and see better, Cayden finally caught something breaking through the thick wall that had fallen all around them. A beam of light, looking far away but growing slowly, appeared in the distance, moving left and right constantly, as if scanning the area in the way an eye would. A searchlight, Cayden easily noted. An outrider of Joe's War Party, sent ahead to scout the area and locate the Rig before the rest of the armada attempted to brave the uncertain terrain. His mind working, his face quickly turned into a scowl. There was only one vehicle linked to Joe that could possibly work to catch up with them at such speed over this uncertain ground. It was the Bullet Farmer, a fact that Cayden knew was not up for debate. The old man's caterpillar tracked car was the only thing that could reach them without risk of crashing into the soft mud, and, since Joe would have order anyone under his command not to shoot wildly, worried about his _property_ being damaged, it had to be someone whose power allowed them independence, leaving only one possible answer. Keeping his eyes on the roaming light, even as two more shots rang out simultaneously, Cayden internally sighed. He knew that it would eventually come to this, going up against the one man of Joe's that he had some semblance of respect for, but he had hoped that such a time wouldn't arrive for a while. But it seemed that it was not meant to be. As Furiosa stalked up from the cabin and stood beside him, the large sniper rifle held firmly in her grip, the young man lowered his hand to his shotgun, now fully loaded thanks to Toast. If there was to be a fight, he wasn't going to go down without a fight.

The Rig's engines roared behind him, and Cayden spun around at the unexpected noise. The great beast seemed to have come alive, pulling herself up the large metal ramps the group had wedged beneath the wheels, rising from the mud and beginning to move across the Wasteland, through the mist. A quick glance around showed only one missing from their party, a certain red headed young woman, and Cayden was off, running across the solid mud after the Rig. He was not the only one with such an instinct, with more footsteps pounding on the ground behind him, while Toast succeeded in catching up to him, the pair sprinting neck and neck through the dark. A body appeared in the passenger doorway, balancing out and looking back towards them, a large amount of fiery hair easily giving away their identity. Cayden was confused at this. If Capable wasn't driving, then who was?

"He wants to help." The red headed woman called out over the noise of the engine.

"Who?" Toast yelled back, giving life to the question that was rattling around Cayden's head.

"The War Boy." Came the reply, and he let out a small groan that went unnoticed by his companions. Of course, it was the War Boy, what should he have expected. Confusion mingled with his exasperation, however, as questions popped into his mind. How had the War Boy got back on the Rig? What was he trying to do? And why on earth was Capable trusting him to help?

"Where did he come from?" Toast seemed as confused as Cayden felt.

"I thought you threw him off the Rig." The words left his mouth before Cayden could stop them, his intrigue over the situation leaking into the rest of him.

The Rig came to a spluttering stop a few seconds later, the thick mud once again seeking to submerge the armoured wheels of the beast, and the group finally reached the cabin, Cayden's shotgun in his hand without him even remembering drawing it. He wrenched the door of the Rig open, pointing the triple barrelled weapon directly at the new figure's face a split second before the feral's pistol appeared. Cayden used the brief period to quickly study his target. The War Boy looked no different from the last time he had seen him, pale skin whitened with powder and large black circles around his eyes. He looked excited, whether over driving the fabled War Rig or as a by-product of being threatened, Cayden was unsure, but there was something else, something that made him reconsider. He looked less manic, the almost religious devotion to Joe completely gone from his eyes. He was as much an escapee as they were, Cayden realised, fleeing from Joe to escape his wrath. He didn't know what for exactly, assuming that it stemmed from the circumstances surrounding Angharad's death, but at that moment, he didn't care. This man was, in his eyes a clear new ally against Joe, someone who needed to escape as much as they did and so would be eager to help. They could decide later over whether or not such a partnership was a good idea.

"There's high ground, just beyond that thing." The War Boy was speaking. Cayden rapidly switched back into the conversation at the words, and turned to follow where the pale man's finger was pointing. Visible through the mist was the trunk of a long dead tree, leafless and white, yet the only thing in the area that wasn't sand or mud. If the War Boy was right, once they got past that, they would be at a massive advantage, since Joe had barely placed a toe in to test the waters of the land. By the time he got his forces across, either through scouting for a solid path or waiting for the sun to reveal it for him, the Rig would already be out of sight, with enough distance between the groups to maybe, just maybe, force the Immortan into abandoning the chase. His mind working over the plan, he barely heard the words that followed from the Rig's two occupants, ignoring them in favour of working over their chances of survival. It was only the Dag's voice, quieter but far more important, that snapped him out of his mind.

"Say, anyone notice that bright light? Encroaching gunfire?"

Cayden turned at the words, staring back towards the still present searchlight. It was getting closer, he realised, the occasional bullet sounding in closer proximity than the previous one. The feral moved forward, and Cayden saw the sniper rifle held in his hands as he kneeled on the ground, bringing the weapon to his shoulder as he took aim. A few seconds of silence, and then the boom of a gunshot ripped through the air, its intensity after the tense few moments causing Cayden to flinch slightly. There was no reaction, however, from the direction the bullet went, no cry of pain or smash of glass. A miss.

"You've got two left." Toast called out to the feral, as Cayden's mind worked. Two bullets. Two bullets to bring down a car filled with War Boys all baying for their blood. The feral aimed and fired once again, the same booming sound followed only by echoes. Another miss. Cayden ground his teeth together. One more like that, and they'd be left with nothing more than a fancy piece of decoration for the Rig. Furiosa seemed to realise this as well, as she moved towards the crouched figure, taking the weapon and resting it on his shoulder. Cayden shared a glance with Toast, who now held a gun handed to her by Furiosa in order to guard the War Boy, with the same look showing their shared trepidation over the ball of light, combined with the basic need for the veteran's aim to be true in her task. Silence fell over the group for a few tense seconds, seeming to stretch into hours for those stood watching, before Furiosa's finger squeezed on the trigger and the bullet, their last chance at escape, flew through the air, the noise echoing as the small projectile ripped a path through the shadowy mist. Before the reverberating sound had a chance to leave the air, a new one replaced it, a distant shattering of glass and a cry of pain, accompanied by the panning light from the approaching car finally shutting off. A hit. They had done it.

Movement from the Rig shook Cayden out of his frozen state. The War Boy had clambered out of the cabin and was moving to the front of the Rig, followed closely by Toast, the gun in her hands still trained on him, despite the uncertainty over what was happening on her face. He was talking quickly, his words a jumbled mess to Cayden that he didn't even bother trying to decipher, his intention clear when the young man saw the cable in his hands. The Rig's winch. Looking to the tree, the plan manifested itself in his mind, with Cayden almost kicking himself for not seeing it sooner. If they wrapped the winch around the tree, it might be able to, along with the engines, pull them up onto the higher ground, freeing them from the Rig's muddy prison. He stumbled slightly as the feral barged past him, racing towards the War Boy and grabbing the winch, the same idea in his mind as he pulled it towards the dead tree, the beacon of freedom for those huddled by the Rig. Cayden paused for a moment, watching the two men in front of the engines, before he turned and ran for where the Rig had come from. There was no need for him to assist with the winch, and he would likely only get in the way were he to try. The sheets of metal used as ramps for the Rig's wheels, however, could still prove useful, and so he sprinted for them, grabbing the edge of one and pulling it out of the mud. The cold metal chilled his fingers, the thin edge biting painfully into the stump of his missing digit, and he resolved to find himself a new set of gloves once the danger had passed, shifting aside the discomfort as he heaved on the steel, the sucking mud holding it tight and serving to make his task harder. More hands joined his own, and he looked up, coming face to face with Toast. Sparing her a brief look of thanks for her assistance, the pair pulled, the Dag appearing on his other side after a second. The trio put all their strength into the task and, after several long moments, the mud released its grip and they pulled back, dragging the metal back up onto the solid Wasteland ground.

Standing and stretching his throbbing fingers for a second, Cayden was stopped cold by the sound of machine gun fire, originating from the direction that the spotlight had once shone. Clumps of dirt began to spring up all around the group, and Cayden knew what was happening. The Bullet Farmer was truly trying to kill them. Whatever Furiosa's shot had done, it had hurt him, angering him to the point where Joe' presumed orders surrounding the Wives were disregarded in favour of a swift vengeance. As the dull thuds of impact drew closer, Cayden spun around, grabbing the two women next to him and pushing them towards the Rig, using himself as a shield for them even as he held the metal ramp up behind him as another shield against the storm of bullets being sent their way. Metallic thuds rang out behind him, pinging off the improvised cover and sending vibrations up his arm, to the point where his grip almost failed, arm and hand numb from the constant barrage they were subjected to. As they neared the Rig, Cayden shouted at the two women to run for behind the tree, and was about to drop the impromptu shield when a loud boom rang out from ahead. Looking towards the sound, he could see the dark outline of the feral sent flying backwards, as the earth near his feet exploded outwards, showering the surrounding area with dirt. Cayden swore out loud. The Bullet Farmer had rocket launchers?! Quickly ensuring that the two women ahead of him were out of rang, he spun around and slammed the heavily dented piece of metal into the ground, standing it up vertically next to the Rig. It would serve to shield him and the others from the attacks until they reached the high ground, and Cayden was glad that he had managed to hold onto it, despite his virtually dead arm. If he hadn't judging from the dents visible from his side, he would likely have been bleeding out or dead from a bullet to the spine.

Turning back in the direction of the cabin, Cayden quickly saw how Cheedo and Furiosa had managed to roll under the tanker, escaping the blast of another explosion on the Rig's left side. While the young woman ran to join her sisters, Furiosa had stopped alongside the great beast. He watched, captivated, as the warrior woman gripped on the side of the great Rig with both hands, metal and flesh, and began to push, trying to assist in the Rig's slow crawl forwards. Taking in the sight of straining muscle and the sound of her low growl, Cayden quickly focused ahead again, assessing the situation. The women were out of danger, having clambered up onto the high ground and disappeared over the slight ridge. The Rig was moving forwards, a snail's pace but motion nonetheless. Turning towards the tree, Cayden felt his pulse quicken. While still acting as an anchor point, it was beginning to fall, the weight of the Rig pulling it slowly out of the earth. Taking all of this in in the space of a second, Cayden made his decision. Stepping up behind Furiosa, he wrapped his fists around a section of protruding metal and, bracing his legs, began to push, trying to help in moving the Rig closer to safety. He felt movement, but it was barely there, a few inches at a time and far too slow. Still, he kept pushing, muscles tense and burning under the strain.

As his body worked, so too did his mind. He thought of the Rig, of what it had represented and what it could come to stand for. He thought of Angharad, the closest thing to a friend he had come across in such a long time. He thought of Joe, the man who had destroyed his entire life. And he thought of Toast, the one person who was keeping him going. All of these thoughts, all of the pain and anger and hope that came with each one, seemed to filter into his body, with his feet beginning to sink into the ground as his entire being worked overtime. After what felt like a lifetime, the seemingly endless crawl finished, the Rig fought its way out of its mud filled trap and began to move, the crash of the toppling tree following in the space of a second. Pulling himself up into his familiar position, Cayden's arms finally gave out on him, and he fell against the metal, lying prone atop the rumbling Rig as it continued its journey. His body felt like it had been crushed under a mountain, but he didn't care. They were free of the mud, they were free of the Bullet Farmer, the explosions and thuds having finally died down. They were free.

The Rig slowed to a halt once more after less than a minute. It wasn't a jerking, pained engine stop, so there was no chance of being caught in yet more mud. Still, Cayden lowered himself down from his perch, legs shaking for a few seconds, and moved closer to the engines, where the rest of the group was once again huddled.

"How are the engines?" Furiosa called to the War Boy, having climbed out of the Rig. Looking up at the great mechanism, Cayden saw tendrils of stem begin to crawl out of the metal.

"Very hot and real thirsty." Came the reply, and he knew what was wrong. The engines had overheated during their escape, the strain placed on them finally taking its toll. They wouldn't be going anywhere fast for a while.

Cayden felt a tap on his shoulder. The feral stood behind him, Jerry can in one hand and a small axe in the other. Confused, the young man simply stood there for a second, until the faint sound of gunfire reached his ears. The Bullet Farmer. Cayden knew that the man wouldn't stop pursuing them, and that, if they stood a chance at escape, then the old man needed to go. Nodding to the savage figure in understanding, he tugged his shotgun from its holster as the feral turned to address the Imperator.

"You need to take the War Rig half a klick down the track" he growled out, gesturing with his bladed weapon to the slightly confused group. Cayden readied himself to move while this was happening, pulling out his knife and testing the blade. Sharp enough.

"What if you're not back by the time the engines have cooled?" Furiosa asked, the hint of concern in her voice. The rest of the women had turned to follow the exchange by this point, and Cayden felt Toast's eyes lock onto him as she worked out what was happening.

"Well you keep moving" the feral replied, his face looking to contain some confusion at the question. Cayden knew why without thinking. The Wasteland was a dangerous place, even more so at this time, and concepts like sentiment or compassion could easily prove to be a death sentence. If they Rig waited for their return any longer than they needed to, then they ran the risk of being caught if something went wrong. Simple survival logic to most. The feral began to turn away, and Cayden quickly darted forward, stopping in front of Toast. Holding out his arm, he pushed the stock of his shotgun into her hands.

"Keep it safe for me" he muttered, reaching down to slip the pistol from her hip into his own calloused hand. The young woman nodded numbly, and Cayden turned to glance at the War Boy, who was looking down at the brief exchange from his seat at the wheel of the Rig.

"They get hurt, I'll kill you slowly." A brief statement, short and yet filled with a promise of fulfilment. The War Boy nodded quickly, and, satisfied at the flash of fear in his black eyes, Cayden turned, weapons in hand as he ran after the feral, the Rig slipping into the mist behind them. The sound of gunfire grew louder, and he gripped his knife tighter. Time to go to work.

Toast sat in her usual seat, head resting against the metal frame of the Rig as she stared out into the misty darkness. The Rig was moving slowly, almost painfully so, the overheated engines refusing to carry them onward at any faster pace. She could hear faint huffs of air from ahead of her and, had she chosen to follow the noise, would have seen the pale body of the War Boy jogging in front of the metal war machine, directing it along its path. But she chose not to, instead turning her attention to the item clutched in her hands, the weapon left to her by its owner, whom, whether they were alive or dead, Toast had no way of knowing for certain.

The owner. Cayden. A multitude of thoughts filled her head at the mention of his name. He had saved her life, shielded her and the Dag from a hail of lethal bullets, risking his own life for theirs. She knew it was not the first time he had done so, his actions in the canyon and his repairs to the Rig no doubt performing the same lifesaving action. Still, the small, almost background deeds he had done in the past had been replaced by the shining, obvious example of his selflessness and bravery, and Toast could not stop thinking about it. However, as much as she was glad for his rescue, an action she knew she could never repay, she was also angry for what had followed. They had barely survived the Bullet Farmer's first attack, and he had chosen to go and confront him directly. She had seen him before he had set off. He was exhausted, arms shaking, legs barely holding up his weight and his face so gaunt that she might have mistaken him for a reanimated corpse if she hadn't known better. He had left them to go confront a maniac when he was half dead, leaving them with a War Boy for protection. Despite Capable's words and the pale man's actions, Toast just couldn't bring herself to trust the War Boy. Too much bad history, combined with her experience in the Wasteland, had sucked from her the inherent trust possessed so clearly by her sisters, and she wished that Cayden had not gone, wished that she was still with the only man she knew that she could trust completely. So many thoughts flitted through her head, filled with worry, anger and gratitude, and she shook her head lightly, focusing her attention onto the shotgun clasped to her chest. Anything that could force away the headache she could feel from her oppressive thoughts was a blessing.

The weapon was old, that much was obvious. The barrel was dull and showing signs of rust, the tip creeping with orange and brown, while the grip was worn down, its leather wrap smooth from years of usage and the exposed wood sandblasted, flaking off near the edges. Toast ran her fingers along the different surfaces almost tenderly. It must have been with Cayden for a long time. the patch job of the device was clear, the metal barrel out of place with the grip, while several small metal bubbles acted as clear indication of soldering. The gun had been put together piece by piece, turned from a pile of scrap into the perfect tool for surviving the harsh Wasteland. Looking at the weapon, Toast could almost see how perfectly it reflected its owner; old and new at the same time, made up of many different broken parts, stitched back together into a new form, given a new purpose. The resemblance in the characteristics of the two was uncanny, and she pulled the contraption closer to her. It might have just been an object, a tool of death for a warrior, but to her it was a part of Cayden, a part that hadn't vanished into the darkness, surrounded by the uncertainty of a return. He had entrusted it to her, and she would keep it until he returned to them. To her.

She shook her head again at that. Where had _that_ come from?

The Rig began to slow once again, having reached the distance set by the feral, and Toast pushed the door open, climbing down to the sand and tucking the shotgun into her skirt. The others had similarly clambered out, each one moving to their own separate tasks. The War Boy clambered up onto the great engines and, a large jug of water in hand courtesy of Capable, began to slowly cool the large motor, pouring the cool liquid through a funnel to sate the heated metal's thirst. Toast quickly made her way around to the tanker, grabbing a bucket as she went, and moved to the small taps in the metal surface, filling the container with white Mother's Milk. Exploiting women as cattle for the production of it acted as another mark against Joe's regime, but it would prove useful in cooling the engines down. Filling the bucket almost to the brim, Toast picked up the heavy pitcher and carried it as rapidly as she could to the front of the Rig, passing it up to the Dag carefully and moving to collect more. She brushed past Capable, the woman having the same idea as her, and was about to fill up another bucket load, when the sound of an explosion pulled her eyes towards the direction the Rig had come from. Through the mist, she could see the orange flames of detonation, breaking through the dark sky and illuminating the landscape, dead trees looking like black shadows against the sudden light. A second later and it was gone, the fire replaced once more by the black confines of night. So many thoughts ran through the young woman's head, filled with panic and worry, while even more questions assaulted her mind. What had happened? Was the threat of the Bullet Farmer gone? Was Cayden alive? None of these she could answer, and they only grew as the seconds passed, building up like a mountain to come crashing down on her. At least, until she heard the new sound coming from the mist.

Finally, the mist receded, and the group was able to see clearly what was approaching them. The feral was walking slowly, dragging a large bag in one had which scraped along the sand. His other arm was wrapped under Cayden's opposing armpit, looking to be supporting the younger man who had his arm around the savage warrior's shoulder. In his other hand, dangling by his side, the young warrior clutched a strange object, and it took Toast a few seconds to recognise it as a wheel. Both men were covered in blood, their faces almost coated in crimson, and as they neared Toast could see more of the liquid staining Cayden's jacket. Her hands dropping to her sides, she could only watch as the pair reached the Rig, the feral releasing the bag and lowering the young man to the ground, resting him against the side of one of the great armoured wheels, with a gentleness that surprised the young woman. Picking up the wheel, the man rose, thrusting the item into the hand of the War Boy before rummaging through the bag and throwing another artefact at the pale man, with Toast quickly recognising it as a boot. Task done, the feral moved to the side of the tanker, dipping his hand into a hanging bucket there and looking to be trying to identify the white liquid inside.

"What is this?" he asked gruffly, apparently giving up on trying to find out for himself.

"It's Mother's Milk" came the Dag soft reply. Accepting the answer, he splashed his face with it, washing the blood from his skin and wiping away the residue of battle. Finishing his quick wash, the feral pulled down a new bucket and, quickly filling it with water, dropped it down by Cayden. This finally snapped Toast out of her daze, focused on the young man's still form, and she knelt, running her hand through the water and wiping at his brow, washing away his crimson colouring. Turning to the feral, she opened her mouth, words leaving before his mind had a chance to control them.

"Were you hurt?" she asked. At the man's frown, she pressed on. "You were bleeding."

"That wasn't his blood." Furiosa chose that moment to enter the scene; her quiet words rapidly telling Toast all she needed to know. They had won.

As she thought of this victory, Cayden let out a low groan, and Toast quickly turned her attention back to where it was needed. His face, now free of gore, was pale, lips pulled tight in pain. Quickly checking the blood on his chest, Toast froze where she saw that it was indeed from him, the tips of her fingers coming away red as even more blood began to seep out, sticking his shirt to him. The feral, watching the scene, quickly explained.

"He got hit in the side. Not sure how bad." His gruff voice was both a blessing and a curse to the young woman's ears. She knew what was wrong, but not how much damage he had suffered. Furiosa stepped towards Cayden's unconscious body, eyes quickly scanning his prone form.

"Get him up to the lookout post. We can treat him there."

The words had barely left her mouth before the feral moved, scooping the young man up, careful to avoid his wound, and slowly clambering up the Rig, moving towards the sheltered bench at the rear of the tanker. Toast followed close behind, eyes never leaving Cayden's face. The two finally reached their destination, with the feral placing him along the seat before stepping back. He quickly yet carefully pulled off the young warrior's jacket, and Toast could clearly see what had happened. His shirt looked almost slashed open, a gash in the fabric along his right side about halfway down his torso. It wasn't deep enough to have hit any vital organs, but Toast knew that it could still be fatal if too much blood was lost. Discarding the jacket, the feral reached into the pocket of his own and pulled out a roll of bandages, as well as a small first aid kit which had clearly seen better days. He passed both implements to Toast before stepping back, watching the proceedings and providing the woman with space to work. She looked at him for a second, trying to figure out what he was doing, before seeing his eyes. Something filled them, something Toast had never seen on his face before. Concern. That look alone forced her to turn around, looking to the bloody wound. If the feral trusted her with Cayden's life, the only person he had shown any kind of worry towards, she wouldn't back out.

The Rig began to move forward once again, with the two mismatched survivors taking a second before falling into their roles, becoming accustomed to the motion. And the Rig drove on through the mist, moving further from the tyranny it was outrunning and closer to the freedom its passengers craved.

 **Bloody hell, that was a lot of writing!**

 **I can't promise anything this length again, but it may happen. I kinda wasn't paying attention to how much there was until I finished. Turns out, it was a lot.**

 **If you feel like I rushed this bit of the story, I really wanted to get this up before the rest of my exams started, so apologies for any shortcomings in this chapter.**

 **Anyways, thanks for getting this far if you're still reading, constructive reviews are always appreciated, and see ya next time**

 **TimeFury1347**


	14. Author's Note 2

**Hey guys!**

 **The next chapter of this story is in the works, and I should hopefully have it up in the next week or so. I just wanted to use this opportunity to address some of my thoughts about the story, as well as a few different notes.**

 **First up, thanks to everyone who has read this, followed it, made it a favourite or commented. The support from you is really important to me, and it helps me to keep writing. Just remember, if you have any thoughts of over the direction this story should take, or even any ideas you think might be useful, please do write them in the comments. I don't know what I'm doing half the time, so any cool points would be very well received.**

 **This is my first fanfiction, and it really is special for me. Mad Max Fury Road is one of my favourite movies of all time, and I really do love writing this for all of you. However, I am going to be slowing down the rate at which I post new chapters. While I do my best, it has been interfering a bit with my schoolwork, and I'd rather not risk it getting any worse. I'm not going on hiatus, but just so you know. Updates are going to be a bit more spaced out.**

 **I also would like to announce that I will be beginning a new story in the near future. This will be based off of the TV Show Arrow (another personal favourite), with the first chapter going up over the next week. I'm not sure how I'll balance the two, but I do hope you'll enjoy it. With the practise I've gotten from this, I hopefully should be better equipped for the new story, especially on the dialogue front!**

 **Anyways, I just wanted to put this up. These points have been on my mind for a while now, and I wanted to take a chance to free them from the confines of my mind. Thank you for making it this far, for putting up with my ramblings, and don't worry, this should be the last Author's Note I do for this story, or hopefully any future ones.**

 **Thanks again, and I'll catch you all next time**

 **TimeFury1347**


	15. Chapter 12

In the back of the Rig, as it moved swiftly through the darkened Wasteland, Toast worked. The feral hovered over her, watching from the out of the night's shadows as the young woman worked, following the orders received from her firm voice and the needs of the patient from the moment she had begun. Her hands, which would have shaken like sand in the wind only a few days previously, were steady and certain as they worked, slowly piecing the young man beneath them back together with a calm only brought about through great determination and fear. Her hands, as well as her arms up to the elbow, were covered in blood, the usually scarlet liquid appearing almost silver in the moonlight. But she ignored it, focusing on the prone, groaning man whose life she was fighting to save, a life that had come to mean so much to her in such little time.

His shirt had gone first. She had needed better access to the wound and the blood was starting to dry, which would have made it almost impossible to properly treat the young man, if the material became stuck over the injury. If anything, it would have raised the chances of infection, if not undermined Toast's work had she needed to separate the covering from the flesh, a very painful option for her charge. She had carefully cut away at the cloth, using a knife she had acquired from Cayden's dark leather boot (after wiping away its new red coating), sliding it through the fabric until all that was left was tatters across the metal floor, his torso bare and the wound exposed, ready for her to work on. The small amount of light that filtered through the thick clouds above them danced across his chest, but Toast was too preoccupied to notice what it revealed. She picked up the needle she had fished out of the old first aid kit and, working slowly in an effort to not make any mistake, slid the metal implement through his torn flesh, a thin thread trailing behind it like the body of a snake, steadily pulling the wound closed. It took several long minutes, Cayden's moans and short gasps of pain growing with every passing second. The feral was eventually forced to come forwards and press his rough hands down on the younger warrior's shoulders, in order to supress the erratic thrashing. The sheer strength of the crazed wanderer was, in truth, the only real defence between Cayden's clenching fists and the hole in his side that was being sewn up. But Toast eventually finished, sliding the small steel pin through the skin once more before severing the thread. The injury was at last closed. Dabbing away the blood with one of the pieces of his shirt, wiping around the wound until the dark red had been removed, Toast reached for the bandage, preparing to cover the repair job. Seeing her movement, the feral hooked his arms under Cayden's armpits, slowly raising the man off the metal bench to allow the young woman to work, both figures always careful to avoid opening the wound again. Toast slipped the bandage around Cayden's back, fingertips running over the rough skin of scars, until she finished the task, tying to bandage securely and dropping back, hands shaking from their stressful act. The feral man once again lowered the form of the unconscious man back down, waiting for only a moment afterwards before retreating, moving back to the cabin and leaving Toast alone with the sleeping man and her thoughts, eyes filled with the white of the bandage. The wound was closed and, provided the covering held firm over the stitches, it would be closed in a matter of days, maybe a little under a month. Cayden was strong, she knew that beyond a shadow of a doubt. He would be fine.

As she leaned back against the thin wall of the lookout post, Toast took a moment to take in the young man before her properly, the pressure of his wound gone from her mind. Her eyes skimmed down his torso, and they widened slightly at what she found. When she had removed his shirt, she had been too preoccupied to notice, in the same way she had been when applying the bandage, but now she saw it, plain as day. Almost his entire body was criss-crossed with scars, some little more than white lines with others were still an ugly red in colour. There were knife wounds, bullet holes that had healed over and puckered the skin, even a handful of burns that had turned patches of Cayden's body leathery. She moved over each one, trying to count them all, and failing miserably. Toast knew that the man was a road warrior, and so had naturally seen a lot of violence, but the sheer number of battle wounds was astonishing. She saw the slightly bloodied cloth around his arm, received during the skirmish in the canyon, and her eyes trailed down to his right hand. Through the bandages over his split knuckles, she saw the stump of his ring finger, the skin just above the first joint twisted inwards towards the wound, and she couldn't help but wonder how he had sustained such a painful looking injury, joining the innumerable queries surrounding the rest of him. Cayden had already been a mystery to her, but the memories of past battles that he bore on his flesh only made him more so, a twisting mess in her head that refused to settle down. She lowered her head slowly, tightly strung muscles loosening as a wave of exhaustion engulfed her entire being, the strain of the last few hours forcing her back into the warm embrace of sleep.

She didn't know how long she slept for, the empty blankness of sleep working independently of time, before she was woken by a change in the lookout post, a sudden shift that served to pull her back into the world she had left for her slumber. Her eyes took a moment to blink away their weariness, the brief rest having done little to sate her exhaustion, before they widened at what she saw. It was still night, the darkness filling the small sheltered area, but the moonlight clearly showed the shadowy figure of Cayden, moving slowly from his position on the bench. Low groans and short, abrupt gasps reached Toast's ears from his direction, as he slowly tried to rise from his makeshift bed, the bandage around his midsection shifting with the motion. She was somewhat surprised at how soon he had woken up, having expected him to be out of it for at least the rest of the night. This amazement at the man's evident fortitude and stubbornness was quickly replaced with worry as an especially pain filled grunt was released, with Cayden's face rapidly turning even paler in the moonlight with pain. She shot forward, pressing her hand against his shoulders in an effort to keep him down, her meagre weight against his hardened muscle significantly reducing any chance of success on her part. His head whipped around at the sudden contact, eyes bleary and crazed from a combination of sleep and pain. A flash of moonlight around his neck caught Toast's eye for a second, but she resisted the urge to investigate for the time being, instead focusing everything on the struggling man beneath her weak grip, still fighting to rise from his prone position on the metal bench.

"Easy, easy," she whispered by his ear, her voice quiet and filled with a gentle soothing that seemed to physically calm the injured warrior, "you've lost a lot of blood."

Cayden finally ceased his struggling, his green eyes losing their manic look as he recognised who he was fighting against. He leaned back on his arms, lying half upright on the metal as he slowly came to properly. His eyes, now devoid of their previous insanity, quickly spun around, examining their new location. As he looked around, Toast took a moment to quickly check on what she had seen flash at Cayden's throat, her curiosity too strong for her to control. A thin chain encircled his neck, silver metal dulled by years of existence in the Wasteland sands. Attached to it were two rings, resting on his chest and a clear gold in colour, metal still shining and clearly well cared for. She wasn't quite certain how she had missed it before, but assumed that it was due to the urgency of the task she had been thrust into, attention focused and uncaring of small, irrelevant details like this. In truth, this made a great deal of sense. The chain was a small one, with the canopy's shade helping to hide it from her eyes. It was only the sudden movement of the young man that had managed to bring it into the revealing light. Toast stared at it for a second, mind working to figure out what it was, why Cayden had it, before its bearer once again claimed her attention.

"Where am I?" He muttered, voice hoarse from old pain and a dried-up throat. "What happened?"

"You're on the Rig." Toast quickly explained, understanding his confusion. The pain must have served to make him delirious, which, coupled with the obscuring mist that still hung in the air and the distance travelled while unconscious, clearly explained his puzzlement over the location. "You were hurt pretty bad. We brought you up here and I stitched you up."

There was silence for a few moments, as Cayden processed the information, his face slowly losing the confusion and tiredness it had contained only seconds before. Shifting his balance so that he leant on one hand, he ran his fingers over the wrapping around his stomach, feeling for the wound beneath the tight bandages. He looked up at Toast once he had done so, eyes filled with a clear look of gratitude, as well as something the young woman couldn't identify.

"You did this?" He questioned, voice laced with something akin to amazement or awe. Toast tried to explain what had happened, how the feral had helped, but she couldn't quite force the words out of her mouth for some reason. She settled for a nod and, at this, Cayden's lips twitched upwards, forming a gentle, grateful smile. "Thank you. I didn't think I was going to survive."

"Well, you did," Toast said quickly, eager to push the doubts from both his mind and hers, "and you're only going to spoil all my hard work if you keep moving around. Those stitches were a pain to put in."

"I'm not lying back down." He insisted almost instantly, recognising the hidden order in her words, and yet refusing to follow the instructions. Pointing at the bench with his free arm, he explained. "It's good for a quick break, less so for long stretches." Toast was about to argue her point when she stopped, seeing his face. His muscles were tightened, eyes flitting around even as they pointed at her. She should have guessed. The man was a road warrior, he probably wasn't used to long stretches of forced recovery. Knowing that she was about to enter an argument she didn't stand a chance of winning, Toast acquiesced, gripping his arm as she helped to carefully pull Cayden up into a sitting position. He took care not to disturb the bandage around his body, one hand pressed to the hidden wound as he shifted into his new position. Toast smiled gratefully at that, worried about how she might be forced to re-stitch the wound should something happen, and grabbed his jacket from where the feral had discarded it. She noticed a second bundle beside it, and, unrolling it, discovered the recently filled water flask Angharad had given to Cayden as well as a dark blue shirt. One of the others in the group must have delivered it while she slept, Toast realised, a light smile touching her face at the idea. She quickly grabbed the flask and passed it quickly to Cayden, who drank from it deeply as Toast pushed the thick leather jacket around his shoulders. She retook her position against the metal side of the lookout post, looking up as the young warrior finally quenched his thirst, passing the still half full flask to her and gesturing for her to drink. As she began to deal with the ache of her dry throat, Cayden looked down at her.

"How long until I can move again?" He asked, settled in his position but already growing impatient in his recovery, knuckles turning white as he gripped the metal bench tightly. In his experience, staying still usually ended in a great deal of pain, typically for both him and whatever enemy he might face. Toast, for once unknowing, couldn't resist rolling her eyes at the caged animal behaviour. Why wasn't she surprised?

"Give it a few hours, at least until the sun's up." She instructed, her patient letting out a grumbled 'fine' in response. She gave a light laugh at the child like attitude, and his eyes followed her, shining slightly as he listened to the soft music. Silence reigned between the pair for a few minutes, the rumble of the engines and the light vibration in the metal the only sounds in the cold night air.

"How did you lose your finger?" Toast asked suddenly, spotting Cayden's stumped digit as he rose his hand to adjust the jacket, the question escaping her lips before she had a chance to stop it. "I mean, did you lose it in a fight, or something?" the young woman quickly continued, trailing off after a moment and silently cursing the sudden lack of a filter system her mouth had.

"Nothing that exciting." Cayden replied, unable to suppress the chuckle that accompanied his words. At Toast's curious look, he explained. "When I was younger, I was fixing something in my car's engine. I'd forgotten to turn it off properly and I wasn't paying attention to where my hands were." He raised his hand to look at the stump, running another finger over the gnarled wound. "Got it trapped between some of the gears. Ended up with no choice but to cut it off." He paused, shoulders shaking for a moment at some unknown joke. "Probably did more damage trying to pull it out than I did getting it stuck in the first place."

Toast could only stare at the young man as he told his tale. She had truly expected him to have lost the finger in a fight, thinking it a part of his life as a road warrior. But now, hearing about how it was due to just a simple accident, she couldn't help but look at him differently. A new side to him had been opened up to her, a regular person who was no more infallible than any other, completely at odds with what she had first believed. Suppressing the thoughts that tried to ride on the back of this revelation, she nodded at his chest, the scars on his body still visible where the skin wasn't covered by the leather jacket.

"And what about those?" she asked, her interest piqued over their origins, and what they might reveal about the man who wore them.

Cayden glanced down at his body's decorations, a slight look of uncertainty welling up in his eyes. "Are you sure you want to know?" he asked hesitantly, subconsciously running his finger over a gnarled scar that ran across his chest from shoulder to stomach. "Some of these stories aren't exactly fun."

"It's alright." Toast said with a gentle voice, leaning forward and resting a hand on Cayden's knee. The young man flinched almost unnoticeably at the contact, the sudden sensation of heat and light pressure making his usually disciplined mind go haywire. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to." Cayden pondered his options for several long moments. The scars, and the memories they invoked, were painful for him, in more ways than one. Every time his fingers ran over them, every time they rubbed against his clothing with too much force, he could remember exactly how he'd gotten them, the lessons they had forcibly taught and the pain dealt in doing so following close behind. Each one was burned into his mind, and he spent every cold sleepless night trying to force himself to forget their stories, to make them nothing more than marks that crossed his body. Telling someone about them would only make them real again, and Cayden wasn't sure whether he'd be able to start his mental battle from square one again, after nearly ten years of slow progress.

But, as he looked at the woman across from him, he realised how difficult the choice truly was, and how much he had changed in such a short amount of time. Had the request been posed several days prior, he wouldn't even have considered the idea of sharing his stories. Suppress the thoughts, push away the person, and move on. It had worked so far, no one ever having been allowed close enough to him for even the thought of letting them in to occur. But now, things had changed. He wasn't alone anymore, instead choosing to throw his lot in with a group of runaways and maniacs, sacrificing any chance of escape he might've had should things go catastrophically wrong. And even if the choice was available, he couldn't honestly say that he would take it. He had saved the lives of the group, not exactly a new experience for the road warrior. They had saved his in return, again nothing new. But this give and take way of interaction had never felt so strange to the young man before. Most people in the Wasteland were focused almost solely on their own survival, working to live yet another day in the barren world they found themselves trapped in. Cayden himself was no exception, having spent years living hand to mouth, never able to really trust anyone. After all, when push came to shove, people tended to start forgetting about the inconvenient obstacles that got in the way of survival, like friendship. Cayden could count on one hand, with fingers to spare, how many times he had encountered a group, or _anyone_ for that matter, who did not always put themselves over the needs of others. And these escapees, this band of runaways, took over at least half of this. He let out a deep breath, almost as if he were steadying himself, before raising his hand and tapping against the small circular scar where his shoulder met his torso.

"This one I got from a crazy man from Gastown." Toast's head, having lowered slightly in the moment or two of silence, shot up as he began to speak, her eyes widening slightly as her shock played across her face. She didn't speak, barely moved, didn't give him any indication of needing to stop. She just sat there, eyes open and ears perked, as he continued. "He somehow got it into his head that I was trying to steal his shadow. Complete idiot, but still a pretty good shot." He lightly pressed against the top of a burn that poked out over his bandage, seeming to loop around the side of his body. "This was when some kid decided it would be a fun idea to try and set me on fire. And this one?" He traced his fingers over a small scar on his arm, one which looked a lot like a bite mark. "Well, that was just plain weird." And so, he went on, sliding his hands from one scar to another, telling the story behind each one. He missed out several, glossing over them or completely ignoring them. Especially the long, jagged lines that adorned his back. Toast said nothing to this occasional avoidance, however, simply willing to sit there and listen. And the Rig drove on, silent save for the Cayden's low voice, carrying through the mist.

MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW

The night still held sway over the world, its grip strong as the clouds still hovered overhead. Cayden and Toast were still in the rear of the Rig, talking quietly as the Wasteland rolled by outside the lookout post's metal walls. The stories of the road warrior's scars had long ago been concluded, Cayden's hands dropping back to the metal bench to signify the end of the discussion. Toast had taken it upon herself to fill the silence, which had begun to worm its way back in like some kind of persistent vermin. She had seen how the young man's face had started to shift as the lack of noise grew more and more deafening, almost seeming to be in pain from some internal fire, and couldn't stand to see him as such. He had suffered so much, the least she could do was hold off more of the same for a time. She had piped up, telling him which as much detail as she could about herself, the life she had led before the Citadel, and about those of the other women, the stories blending together into just a background noise of her voice. But it was enough. Cayden's features had lost the anguish that had possessed them, and he had looked at her with interest, seemingly eager to learn more about those he was travelling with. And Toast was more than happy to inform him. The look in his eyes made her breath catch in her throat, and, strange though the feeling was, she most definitely liked it. If she could keep that with her, it would be worth it.

She was halfway through a story of the Dag and Miss Giddy, when Cayden's eyes, previously latched on to her face, suddenly spun away, looking out into the darkened desert. Voice trailing away, she turned to look too, curious over what had attracted the young man so. The mist was still thick, but more light from above seemed to have forced its way through the overhanging clouds, illuminating the area for the young woman's eyes. They were passing through a swamp, the twisting outlines of dead trees marking the world like the clutching hands of buried giants. Lower to the ground, Toast could see, faintly through the mist, what looked like people moving about over the boggy earth. They seemed to almost hover in the air, before Toast was able to make out the long thin stilts attached to their arms and legs, granting them mobility without the risk of sinking into the mud, disappearing into the ground forever. As the Rig trundled through the land, the people they passed by, if they could be classified as that, turned to look up at them, their faces hidden in the darkness and in the apparel they wore. Toast could feel their eyes, though. Like burning holes on her face, she could feel the looks of those they left behind them. Confusion, hope, disappointment, desperation. All of these could be identified in their stares, along with the hatred the young woman had come to associate with the iron Goliath that was the War Rig. Above them all, crows circled the dark sky, darting down every now and then and gripping on to the rotting wood of the dying and dead trees. Their sharp cries ripped through the air, almost as loud as gunshots in the quiet of the night, and Toast couldn't help but slowly pull into herself, feeling a colossal rise of fear at the horrible sight. This was what the Wasteland was made of. Desperate people, inhospitable land, and death. Always death.

Pulling her arms around her body, she jolted slightly at the feeling of hands gripping her shoulders, pulling her backwards to rest against a warm surface. Craning her head to look up, she saw Cayden's face looking down at her. He had pulled her closer to himself, wrapping his arms around her body in an attempt to comfort her, his body and warmth acting as something like a shield against the cold and gloom of the world they passed by. As the caws of the crows slowly faded away, replaced by a low hum coming from Cayden's throat, Toast slowly relaxed, muscles loosening and allowing her to lean back into the road warrior. They stayed in their position for several long minutes, long enough for the Rig to drive through the marshy wasteland, leaving the rotting trees far behind in favour of the night cooled sand. Eventually, Cayden's arms pulled apart from around her body and he moved away, although still keeping one hand on her shoulder. Rising from where she had been almost curled up on the metal floor, Toast sat down shakily on the lookout post's bench, Cayden placing himself right beside her.

"Are you alright?" He asked, concern clear in his voice as his eyes glittered with it. Toast nodded slowly, taking a few deep breaths before answering.

"Yes, I'm…I'm fine." She half said, half whispered, the leftover fear in her system making her words shaky in her throat, even as her body did the same, the cold of the night seeming to seep into her bones all of a sudden, as if the sight of the bog was all it was waiting for. Despite her assurances, Cayden could feel the shivering of the young woman in her shoulders, and quickly grabbed his jacket. It had fallen from its perch along his back when he had moved to grab Toast, and now he carefully placed it around her, sliding her arms through the sleeves and pulling it closed across her chest. Almost as soon as the worn, warm leather touched her flesh, Toast could feel the chill inside her recede, and she wasted no time in sealing herself inside the material. It was far too big for her, with the sleeves engulfing her hands and the main body reaching down to just past her knees. But it felt good, a warm shelter that the young woman never wanted to leave. Its warmth, its thickness, even the faint aroma of leather and engine oil it gave off. She felt safe bundled up in it, a feeling that she hadn't truly felt for almost as long as she could remember. Smiling up at Cayden as he finished his work, the pair sat side by side on the metal seat, facing the direction that the Rig had come and simply sitting in silence, letting the movements of the vehicle rock them and the hum of the powerful engine surround them. Slowly, Toast, again feeling the sneaking arms of tiredness, lowered her head so that it rested against Cayden's shoulder, her hair and face pressed against the warm flesh of his arm. The light rocking served to relax her muscles, with her eyelids slowly beginning to drop. The world began to fade away from her, shadows sneaking their way into her vision, and she finally fell asleep, head resting more fixedly against Cayden's shoulder as she surrendered to her body's primal need for rest.

Cayden felt Toast slump against him as the silence wore on, and looked down to see her lying against him, face turned slightly up and possessing the calmest and most innocent mask that he had ever seen. There was something about sleep that turned people into the most peaceful version of themselves possible, far more so than anything they could do while conscious. It did seem that the woman beside him seemed to personify this, looking like a sleeping angel from where he was, but this didn't truly surprise him. Ever since he had met Toast, she had amassed a massive area of confusion and chaos in his mind, with different thoughts, feelings and questions flying around inside his head every second, with Cayden himself possessing very little, if any, control over this rouge mess. She had completely flipped everything he had previously thought, changed every rule he had towards those not him, and had left an imprint on him that he doubted would ever leave. And he couldn't honestly say that he wanted it to. Tilting his own head downwards, he pressed his lips against Toast's dark hair, simply enjoying the sensation of her presence. He'd have to combat his spinning thoughts eventually, he knew that. Just not right now. For now, he simply sat there, listening to the breathing of the beautiful young woman beside him, as, after a near eternity of mist and shadows, the clouds began to recede and the first rays of the sun poked over the horizon, painting the world in fiery orange.

MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW

The sun was high in the sky, as Cayden once again rested in his familiar place, watching the dust and sand of the Wasteland whistle past the metal body of the War Rig. Toast had been right, by the time the night had finally receded into the corners of the world, his wound was already feeling much better, the stitches she had set finally finishing the slow process of settling. They had still been uncomfortable, though not painfully so, as he had moved to stand up for the first time in hours, gently laying the young woman beside him down onto the bench as she slept still. Pulling on the new shirt left by whoever had delivered the water flask had taken far too long, in Cayden's opinion, the tightness in his muscles whenever they overextended themselves making the task last a full minute, with plenty of grunts and muttered curses throughout. However, the movement, while uncomfortable, served to loosen his body up significantly, shaking off the effects of his immobility alongside his fatigue. Toast had still not awoken, her mind and body both completely worn out from the hectic and stress filled night, and so, after waiting a moment to build up his own exhausted strength, Cayden had picked her up gently, and carried her along the back of the tanker, cradled in his arms, and with the girl still wrapped in his heavy black jacket. Swinging them both around the side of the cabin had proved an interesting exercise, and there had been moments where the pair could have gone tumbling into the passing sand, made blinding by the reflection of the sun. Fortunately, nothing so catastrophic had occurred, and the young road warrior had managed to carefully seat Toast back alongside her sisters. The short haired survivor had still not woken up, and Cayden couldn't help but chuckle at that, looking back at the events. In truth, there could have been another sandstorm and he doubted Toast would have stirred. The poor girl was shattered, and any rest she could get would help her recover. And, after all she had done for Cayden, saving his life being the main highlight out of the multitude that came to mind, the least he could do was help her sleep in a more comfortable location, the stuffed seats of the cabin infinitely superior to the hard metal bench of the lookout post.

Almost as soon as Toast had been laid gently to her impenetrable rest, once he had looked over her once more to be certain, Cayden had slowly pulled himself back around the side of the Rig, easing himself down into the spot he seemed to have claimed, and letting his head rest against the metal surface behind him, his legs once again dangling in the open air. The wound, while no longer so fresh that it would rip open again at the slightest opportunity, was still very sore, with the movement around the metal Rig only serving to agitate it further. Therefore, even with his long history with pain, Cayden had no choice but to let it simmer down, lest something further happen to undo all of Toast's good work. The rocking of the Rig served once more to calm him, the gentle movement of the vehicle over the land having become a sensation so known to him over the years, so comforting. The sensation of being in control of a car as it moved across the land, hearing the roar of the engine and feeling its immense power under his fingers had never gotten old to Cayden, and even here, where all he could be was a passenger, he still revelled in the experience, allowing some of the only good memories he had of his Wasteland travels to come back to him. He couldn't truly remember the last time he had been truly happy, the trauma he had gone through in the mountain caves serving to almost destroy his recollection of life before his wanderings, but he had felt something close to it. Behind the wheel of his car was the only place he had ever felt he belonged, the elegant machine the only home he had known for such a long time. He had built it himself, out of pieces of scrap and the remains of other vehicles, and it had become an extension of himself, a constant companion in the Wasteland, and one he had always known would be by his side. Until recently, of course.

He quickly tried to shake the unwelcome thought from his mind, but for once he found himself unable to, the swirling whirlpool of his mind sucking him in before he had a chance to gain a foothold against it. Images flashed before his eyes, of both people and places. The faces were familiar to Cayden. They were the same ones he always saw at night, when the darkness got hold of him. They weren't dead in his mind, however, their bodies not broken and their faces not covered with blood. No, in his mind, they were alive, their faces radiating with light and life. It only hurt all the more to see them like this, to be reminded about how they used to be, the lives they had led before he had come into contact with them, bringing his dark curse down upon them. Everywhere he went, everything he did, ended in death, those he met paying the price for his sins, no matter how hard he fought to save them. Nothing could hope to protect them; their lights being snuffed out once everything had been taken from them. Thinking about the group in the cabin behind him, Cayden couldn't help but wonder why he had stuck around, why he was once again bringing down his darkness upon these people. He should have jumped over the side of the Rig, braved the desert alone instead of letting these people get in the way of the inevitable. But something held him back, even as he braced his hands against the metal to push. It wasn't fear that held him back, of the desert or the death that would most certainly await him. He had long since past the point of caring whether he lived or died, and he had been stranded in the desert alone before now. As with many horrible things that existed and occurred in this twisted world, it wasn't exactly new to him. He couldn't pin the reason down for a second, scrabbling through his own mind in search of it, before a slight twinge in his side, a reminder of the strenuous activity, suddenly brought the reason into the light. It was Toast. She was the reason he couldn't leave. Of course, he cared about the rest of the group, having become rather protective of them over the day or so he had known them, but he knew, if push came to shove, he would be able to leave them if needs be, willing to abandon them if it meant they would be spared. But with Toast, he just couldn't bring himself to arrive at this conclusion. No matter what he did, no matter how hard he tried to convince himself, he would always see her face, looking at him as if she were pleading, and any attempt to leave when sailing out of his head. The twisting thoughts in his mind surrounding her acted like a steel net, trapping him inside and refusing to let him out, no matter how hard he fought.

Angrily, he pushed the entire confusing mess from his head, focusing his efforts on removing the irritating collection of jumbled thoughts from his mind. There was no point in thinking of whether or not he could leave. He was here now, that was all there was to it. He had made a promise to Angharad to get the group to the Green Place, and that was what he was going to do, the memory of her fall acting like a catalyst for his fervour. Once he had delivered the Sisters, a more appropriate title than the Wives in his opinion, then he could resume his lone wanderings, as opposed to trying to do so now, with the memory of his broken and failed promise likely to haunt him for the rest of his life, however long or short that turned out to be. Letting his mind fall silent again, Cayden closed his eyes, simply enjoying the rolling movement of the Rig. His body was still exhausted, still healing, and so he let his mind go, surrendering once more to the shadows that had been gathering since just before the sun rose. And, for the second time in the space of less than a day, his dreams were not plagued with ghosts, but with the shining face of an angel, come down from the heavens to free him from the dark.

MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW

Cayden was jarred awake from his, for once not unpleasant, slumber when the Rig once again began to slow to a halt. There was no noise this time, no groan from the engine or squeal from the tyres, only the gentle stilling of momentum and the second-long shake that indicated full stop. It was this last sensation that had awoken the young road warrior, jerking his head to the side and causing his eyes to snap open, searching around for the new threat. An old force of habit he had been forced to learn, but one which, at this time, was growing redundant. Simply lying against the metal body of the Rig for a moment longer, his ears perked up once he heard the distant sound of screams somewhere in front of the Rig. Not screams of pain, but those that begged for assistance. Standing up, his muscles quickly fighting off the stiffness that had begun to gather in them, he peered in through the shattered back window of the cabin, his keen eyes scanning around to identify the current situation, and to catch up on what he had missed.

Everyone gathered in the cabin was wide awake, the heat of the sun making it challenging for any to remain asleep while its hot rays could gain access to the small, metal capsule. Furiosa and the feral were seated in the front, the warrior pair keeping a keen eye on the horizon. The rest of the party, the women and the escaped War Boy, sat in the back, the already narrow bench now seeming overcrowded to the point of breaking. Toast, Cayden saw with no small amount of pleasure, still wore his jacket, her small frame almost swallowed by the thick leather, especially given the way she had it pulled tightly around her body, almost like a shield against the Wasteland threats. The sensation raised by the look of her safety in something so close to him was filed away under everything else that rocketed through his mind about her, and he forced himself to focus on the rest. The War Boy sat with his arm wrapped around Capable's shoulders, and, despite the way she leant into the embrace, Cayden felt something ugly stir inside him at the sight. The protective urge he had quickly built up concerning the women was screaming at him, and he struggled to calm it down when faced with this. He knew that the War Boys were not evil themselves, simply following the blind devotion that had been pounded into their skulls, but still. It would be a long stretch before he could ever trust one with his life, not even considering trusting one with those of his companions. Nevertheless, while this sight certainly drew the eye, what the entire collection of escapees was looking at was something far more interesting.

Ahead of the Rig, sticking up out of the desert like a metal tree, there was an old metallic framework, scraping against the sky as the tallest thing around for miles. On a platform near the peak of it, there was a naked figure, that Cayden could vaguely make out as a woman, in clear distress, crying and shivering from her perch. Her cries and pleas for help could be very clearly heard from the position of the Rig, giving testimony to the need for assistance the woman craved, her screams reaching distances far greater than they would otherwise have achieved. Cayden couldn't help but pity the poor figure, looking to have suffered through some sort of attack and barely survived, with his heart almost begging him to jump down from the metal Goliath he stood on and learn what was wrong, to try and help the victim in whatever way he could. But, while this instinct was more than prevalent in his chest, something else held him back, the instincts he had honed through the years warning of some danger that he could not see. And he wasn't the only one.

"That's bait." The feral's grunted statement was barely audible to the young man, although the meaning behind the words was as clear as the purest water to him. There was no life around here, no possible way for humanity to scratch an existence in these barren sands without picking off others who happened to wander by. And, even with the fight for survival that the Wasteland saw every day, there was only a handful of people that wouldn't stop when seeing a woman in need, just to see what was happening. As a way to help, to assess the threat that was apparently in the area, even as a chance to remove what little had been left behind. Most would stop, giving any hidden third party the perfect opportunity to strike. A sad reality of the Wasteland, but one that had been proven true time and again. Cayden himself had fallen prey to one such scheme before, although it had turned out far less successful than usual. Still, a trap was a trap, and there was little chance that this was anything but.

Furiosa, however, seemed to disagree with this fact. "Stay in the Rig." She instructed the rest of the group, the faint stirrings of recognition in her voice, before she opened the metal door and pulled herself out into the desert. Cayden watched the seasoned warrior move forward, towards the metal tower and away from the safety of the Rig. While the distance was great, with Furiosa facing away as she began to speak, he was still able to pick up most of what was being announced, the warrior woman's war crier voice pairing with his perked-up ears. "I am one of the Vuvalini! Of the Many Mothers! My Initiate Mother was K.T. Concannon! I am the daughter of Mary Jabassa. My clan was Swaddle Dog!" The words, which sounded like complete and utter nonsense to Cayden and, indeed, the rest of the Rig's occupants, seemed to cause some kind of reaction in the screaming woman, who quickly rose and let out a loud warbling cry, a mix between a battle shout and a bird signal. The rev of multiple engines drew Cayden's attention quickly to the large sand dunes ahead of the group, from which appeared a number of motorcycles, almost appearing out of the sand itself. He counted at least half a dozen of the machines, nimble little bikes that made quick work of the untrustworthy terrain and distance between themselves and the unprotected Imperator, and slowly began to reach for his shotgun. If things went south, he was going to be ready. Pulling himself up from his crouched position by the cabin's rear window, he moved towards the right of the Rig, poking his head carefully over the side to get a better look. There were indeed six motorcycles, now parked in a half-circle around Furiosa, the occupants either resting against the machines or dismounting to approach. While most wore shawls and hoods over their heads, concealing their faces, a number had decided to remove the material, revealing a collection of old women, older than Cayden had seen in the Wasteland proper for a long time. The presence of their weapons was not ignored, but the young man lowered his hand from the holster at his hip when he saw the actions of the small group. Instead of appearing hostile, they were almost celebratory, standing close to Furiosa in the way a family would, with the screaming woman from the tower releasing her from a quite tender embrace. He couldn't hear what was being said, the words being said too soft for him to make out, but from the movements of their lips and hands, especially the clutching gesture, he could tell that they weren't dangerous. Or at least, not unless he did something to make them so.

The sound of the Rig door opening in front of him drew Cayden's attention away from the new group ahead of them. The Sisters, he had thought it more appropriate than Wives, had begun to descend to the sand, slowly clambering down from the metal monolith to begin the short trek over to Furiosa and the women who, through the lack of violent action, had been proved to be peaceful. Cayden couldn't help the slight swell in his chest when he saw Toast, the first to approach, still wearing his jacket, wrapped up in it like a blanket that was far too big for her. He himself chose to hang back, leaning over the side of the Rig as the young women gained their first moment of true freedom from Joe. Besides, from the distinct lack of males among the bikers, he couldn't help but feel that his sudden, unannounced presence wouldn't be greatly welcomed by the hardened women. The meeting between young and old, between hardened and soft, was one that raised more than a few chuckles from the young warrior. As the two groups met, the Sisters quickly became the victims of several strange rituals, especially the stroking of skin and, bizarrely, the inspection of teeth. Cayden caught more than one distrustful look being sent his way, but brushed it off without hesitation. Trust was something he had to earn, it seemed, no different than anywhere else in the smoking remains of the world. He was used to it, having been met with suspicion and hostility for most of the past decade. Here would be no different.

Cayden's standoff attitude, however, was shaken when he saw the look change on Furiosa's face. The distance still made the words that wafted his way half silent and almost unrecognisable, but he could see the effects they had. Furiosa, before appearing so happy and content, something he had never seen on her over the past day or so, now looked like she had just witnessed the greatest atrocity ever committed, the smile sliding off her face to fall in the dirt. Some of the half-shattered words reached his ear, with the fragments coming together to form a half visible picture of what had occurred.

"The soil…had to get out…water was filth…poisoned…only ones left…"

The Green Place was gone. Something had happened to the water that had forced the people there to flee, with this small group the only ones left. Cayden suddenly had a horrible realisation. They must have already passed through the remnants of the Green Place hours ago, the dark marshland being the only place for miles around that wasn't dust and sand. This information must have reached Furiosa, since she had slowly started to move away from the group, heading out into the sands in a slow, stumbling shuffle, as if she was not even seeing the ground she walked on. Cayden's eyes followed the seemingly broken woman as she passed through the sand, relying heavily on the roof of the Rig's cabin as he felt the strength in his legs begin to wane. Furiosa's arm dropped into the dust, trailing behind her for a second before the thin leather straps were detached, leaving it lying there, discarded. And still, Furiosa walked, looking ready to collapse at the slightest breeze. And so, that was exactly what she did, dropping to her knees and merely staring at the ground, before lifting her head to scream at the heavens, her cry wrenching at Cayden's soul as it tore through the air, all other noises silent as if in respect of her great pain. And so, he watched on, as did the rest of those assembled, mere observers to the collapse of Furiosa's world, unable to do anything but share in her grief.

MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW

 **Thank you so much for reading to this point.**

 **I'd just like to say, apologies for the long absence. It may take a while for me to get back into this story's style of writing, so just bear with me. Don't worry, I won't be going on any more long hiatuses, (hiati?) for this story again. One was enough.**

 **The future updates of this will be a tad slower, since I've also got my GoT and PotC fics to write, but it won't be too bad. Maybe one update every two or three weeks now. I'm off to Greece in a week or so anyway, so I should get the next two chapters written then, hopefully. Please do check out my others stories in the meanwhile (Shameless plug, I know)**

 **Well, there you have it. Thanks for making it this far, hope you enjoyed and if you have anything you'd like to say, just leave it in the comments, and I'll see you all next time. Peace out!**


	16. Chapter 13

In a place such as the Wasteland, there was little beauty. The world before had contained such masterpieces, works of art gathered over centuries that existed only to delight those who laid eyes on it. Such marvellous specimens had, sadly, not long survived the destruction that brought about the eternal desert, lost to the swirling vortex of history, with only their legend remaining for those who had been touched by them. Now, the world had grown harder, the people had no time for such decoration. Every day was about survival, and as such the constant struggle left its victims ever tired, with no energy to enjoy the simple things around them. With the death of the old world, it seemed, had come the death of the soul. Maybe someday, such pieces of work would become possible again, or surface from wherever they rested beneath the dust. One could hope.

Still, as Cayden sat on the roof of the War Rig's cabin, watching the sun set over the sandy dunes, he couldn't help but marvel at the beautiful sight. The vanishing light sent great shadows everywhere, throwing the world into sharp relief wherever the contrast could be seen. And the sun itself, mere hours ago so bright as to be nothing more than a blinding ball of white, seemed to have cooled, beautiful red and oranges painting the world in the colours of a warm fire, a comfort sadly not known to far too many who called the dusty plains their home. It wouldn't last, Cayden knew that. The light would dim, the cold would rise, and the world would die another death until morning, when the sun would return in its burning intensity. Still, even with this knowledge of what was to come, it was still an awe-inspiring sight. And, in a world where you were more likely to see horrors on a daily basis than you were to see delights, it was best to take any chance for peace and contemplation you could get. Something Cayden knew all too well, and had been forced to learn far too soon.

After they had found the Vuvalini, and once Furiosa had managed to somewhat recover from the heart-breaking news of her childhood home's destruction, the small group of misfits and runaways had followed the Many Mothers back to what seemed to be their campsite. It wasn't much, just a small patch of desert that was sheltered from the winds by high sand dunes, but it was perfect for their needs, as well as being remote enough to effectively hide the War Rig from any prying eyes. The Vuvalini had been there for a while, Cayden assumed, given the equipment that he found there. Two additional bikes to the six they had first seen, as well as some rudimentary shelters and a small fire pit, pot and spit in a pile nearby. It was the sort of settlement that Cayden had come across many times before, and one that, he knew from experience, could be taken down and reassembled somewhere else in less time than it took to rev up a car engine. As most in the Wasteland knew, to stay still was to stagnate, and to stagnate was to die. A lesson that many, including himself and these women, had taken to heart.

As the sun finally fell behind the high dunes, and the shadows began to play across his face, Cayden rose from his seated position, stretching his rigid limbs and hearing the small cracks and pops as they prepared to return to work. Spinning on the spot, the road warrior looked out across the world one last time, before his eyes fell to rest on the empty expanse of land that stretched away from them. The one place he had desperately tried not to see, the place he had sworn to himself never to return. The Plains of Silence. The emptiest area in all the Wasteland, they reached out to the horizon and kept on going, salty ground extending hundreds, if not thousands, of miles in any given direction. Many had tried to cross them, and few lived to tell the tale. Cayden knew why. If you didn't run out of fuel or water in the middle of them, the heat from the sun and salt in the air would drive a person insane. Hell, it had nearly done the same to Cayden himself, and he had barely made it out alive. You only went in if you were desperate, mad, or suicidal, and you only came out if you were even more so. Luckily for the lone warrior, he was all of these and more. Even the sun itself seemed reluctant to gaze at it, long shadows stretching like knives across the glittering sand. In the fiery sunset light, it seemed that the entire barren land was on fire, a scene that was beautiful and terrifying in equal measure. The same with many things in this new world, he supposed.

As he lowered himself down to the sand, Cayden winced as his stitches were pulled slightly as he stretched slightly too far to find a foothold. The repairs held, however, and he knew he'd have to thank Toast once again for her almost expert work on patching him up. Still, from the slight specks of red that had seeped through his shirt, he'd have to be careful how he moved for the next few days. In the past, Cayden had never been too seriously injured before, or at least not anywhere without people around. And, with his reluctance to stay anywhere for too long, the most recovery time he'd allowed himself tended to be little under a week before he could no long resist the call of the open road and whatever lay beyond the horizon. Probably not the best way of dealing with an injury of this calibre, however, so he'd need to take a bit more care. Besides, with the way things were going, he would be able to sate his desire for movement and recover at the same time. There was very little likelihood of Joe ever giving up the pursuit for his Wives. Even with Angharad dead, or rather, _especially_ with Angharad dead. If he wasn't out to reclaim his 'property' or maintain his merciless and ruthless reputation, he had just lost a son, mere weeks before he could be born. He wouldn't rest until the Wives were his again, to make up for this monumental loss, and those who had helped free them were nothing more than rotting bodies and heads atop spikes at the Citadel. And so, for those on the War Rig, they would never be able to stop moving. Never be able to stay in one place, never be able to have even the semblance of a normal life, or as normal as things got in the Wasteland. As Cayden wiped away some of the blood that had seeped through the shirt and onto his fingers, he found himself confused by the twisting feelings in his gut. The only life he'd ever known that hadn't been ripped away from him was one on the road, ever changing with the rise and fall of the sun. It was the one he had grown used to, had grown to love. So why did the idea of living like that forever sit so strangely inside him?

Turning to move towards the campsite, Cayden was surprised to see several of the Vuvalini standing in front of him. They were in something of a semi-circle, leaving him pinned between them and the bulk of the War Rig. For a moment, Cayden wondered how they had managed to sneak up on him. His senses had been trained for situations like this, and were this any other time, his hand would already be filled with his shotgun, which itself would be smoking from all three barrels. However, a quick glance to the ground told him what he needed. The sand, although relatively tightly packed beneath the Rig's huge wheels, was far looser in the area surrounding it, presumably due to being free of the war machine's constricting weight. This prevented any noise from footsteps from travelling very far which, coupled with the women's feet being wrapped only in cloth, with their heavy boots by the recently made fire, meant that they could move almost silently. Cayden realised that they must have been used to moving in silence, a necessary skill that any survivor would need. Furiosa, he recalled, had said that she had been kidnapped by Joe about seven thousand days ago, which was far longer than he had been roaming the Wasteland. Cayden didn't know when exactly the Green Place had become uninhabitable, but, given the battle worn look of the Vuvalini's rides and gear, it was clearly far longer than he had been wandering. Compared to them, he was still learning.

"Is there something I can do for you?" He asked, eyes roaming across each of the women as his hands tightened. If there was one thing he hated more than monsters like Joe, it was being forced into small spaces with no escape. He had been in one such location when his family was butchered, and had hated them ever since. It took him every ounce of self-control he possessed not to let his hand fall to the grip of his gun. Aside from the women being far better armed than he was, it probably wasn't a good idea to try and kill the group that was currently responsible for hiding him from Joe's War Party and giving him the first chance to rest properly that he'd had in days.

"We were just wondering about exactly how committed you are." One of the women, Cayden hadn't had a chance to learn their names, spoke, a hard look of distrust in her eyes. One that each of the Vuvalini surrounding him held. They didn't trust him, they doubted his loyalty to the mission, to the women he had been protecting for the past two days. Cayden could almost have laughed, but the clear and present threat around him nullified this reaction.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he bluffed, beginning to move past the woman ahead of him, "and right now, I don't really care." He didn't need to justify himself to this lot. He'd done more to help the escaped women than these Many Mothers had, he shouldn't have to be put under their interrogation. They didn't like him because he was a man, sure, but even they would have been able to see his intentions simply from the fact that he was with the group and hadn't been shot in the head by one of them yet. Moving past the warrior woman in front of him, Cayden was suddenly brought to a halt by the feel of cool metal pressed to the back of his neck.

He didn't move at all, just remained standing where he was. He could hear movement behind him, and assumed that the surrounding women were grouping up. The feel of the gun barrel against his head took up most of his mind, and he used whatever evidence he had to analyse the situation. From the size of it, he knew it was a pistol, not one of the large rifles most of the Vuvalini carried. And, should it be fired, it would tear straight through his spine, blast open his throat and come out almost perfectly through his Adam's Apple. Not a scenario he could walk away from.

"I don't trust you." The same voice sounded out from behind him. Cayden didn't answer, silently cursing himself for climbing down the empty side of the Rig. The rest of the group was on the other side, too far away to help should he call. He'd be long dead before they arrived. "I've seen how men take advantage of women." The Vuvalini continued, her voice filling with such passion and hatred that Cayden could almost feel the heat of them on his body. "You find them, use them, and cast them aside. You've been doing it for centuries, and you'll do it forever. It's in your blood. Well, I won't let you." Cayden's mind raced, quickly working up a plan to possibly get himself out of there with his body intact.

"That gun's empty." He stated, filling the words with as much confidence as he could muster. "There's no ammo in it, the clip's empty."

"This gun's never empty." The voice hissed, clearly angry at the show of self-assurance.

"You sure about that?" Cayden asked, letting a grin form on his face at the ease at which the trick was working. "You're pressing it awfully hard against me. As if trying to cover up the fact that you're bluffing." There was silence for several long moments, and Cayden was worried that his bluff would be called. Eventually, the pressure on the back of his neck began to alleviate. Either the gun's wielder was doubting her weapon's magazine, or she was trying to prove that it was loaded, making up for a mistake that had given her 'enemy' confidence. Whatever the reason, it worked perfectly for him.

Twisting his head to the side, Cayden whirled around out of the gun's muzzle, and just in time. The sound of a gunshot ripped past his ear, the wind from the bullet dancing across the side of his face. Moving fast, he grabbed the hand holding the weapon, tightening his grip as he wrenched the limb up and around, spinning the old warrior around with her hand up behind her back. He was careful not to put too much pressure into it, however. He was only trying to make a point, not cripple someone who might prove an ally in the future. The pressure that was in effect, however, was enough, and the hand grasping the weapon weakened as the Vuvalini struggled to break free. Using his free hand, Cayden grabbed the weapon, pressing it to the woman's temple as his other hand released its captured limb, moving up to wrap around the old warrior's throat in an inescapable headlock.

"I don't want to fight, so please don't make me." He stated calmly, ensuring that his voice carried over to the two other women, both of whom had drawn their own weapons to point at him, in defence of their friend. The way he held her, however, ensured that their guns would not be fired, the risk of hitting their fellow Mother too great. "I get that you doubt me, I really do. In your place, I'd do the same." Cayden continued. "But I will swear to you on whatever you like that I will never turn against those women. I've helped them far too much to even consider doing something else now." Lowering his voice to a whisper, he moved so his mouth was directly against his captive's ear. "That monster has taken everything from me," he hissed, voice turning low and threatening, sending a visible shiver down the hardened woman's spine, "he's taken, my home, my family, my friends. I won't let him take the final pieces that are left." Loosening his grip, he twisted and pushed the woman away, tossing the pistol down beside her. His hands dropped to his sides, all the fight suddenly leaving him.

"Those girls hold my heart in their hands." he said, an image of Toast flashing into his mind as he spoke. "I would rather die than betray them." Piece said, Cayden lowered himself to his knees and bowed his head, closing his eyes as he waited for a verdict. If this was the end, then he'd at least meet it with what little honour he still had left.

A second passed. Then another. From the brief scuffle of feet, barely audible behind the Rig, moving towards him, Cayden assumed that the others had heard what had happened. The gunshot in particular had done much to attract attention. He didn't look, however, just focused on his breathing, on the faint wind rustling through his hair. For the first time in many long years, he felt truly at peace.

Something heavy landed with a thud in front of him. Cracking open his eyes, Cayden saw a pistol lying by his knees. The same pistol he had held mere moments before. Looking up, he stared into the eyes of the woman who had once been his captive, standing tall in front of him. There was something in her expression, a look far warmer than any he had been shown by the group before now. The woman reached down, gnarled hand picking up the pistol, before pressing it sidelong against his chest, the cold metal warming on contact with his body, blood still pumping through his veins. His hand moved numbly to take it, keeping it pressed against him more than anything.

"You'll be needing this." She said, voice denoting a new-found respect for the young road warrior who had just bared his heart to her. Her arms moved to grip his now, gently tugging at his jacket and helping him to rise. Standing, Cayden took a proper grip on the gun, feeling it in his hand properly for the first time. Old, but reliable. The perfect weapon for the Wasteland. He pushed the barrel into his belt, secure for the time being. He could work out a more permanent solution later.

"Come on," another of the Vuvalini said, moving passed the silent, confused group of young women that were now present, beginning the walk towards the sound of a small fire, crackles audible in the near silence, "there's warm stew to eat. You must be starving." Confusion slowly ebbing from his mind, Cayden began to move forwards, trailing after the women as they headed for the warm fire. Looping his hand through those of Toast and Cheedo, both still frozen from what had just occurred, he felt a new sensation flare up in his heart. Hope. He had just proved himself to these battle-hardened warriors, and, in the process, gained some new friends to assist in the mission he had pledged himself to, only two days ago.

Maybe what came next wouldn't be as hopeless as he'd thought.

MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW

The light had been gone for hours, the darkness of night taking a full hold on the world. Still, unlike other nights, where the cold would be reaching its way into her bones, or even in the Hell that had once been her life, Toast was warm and secure in the camp of the Vuvalini. Her belly was filled with food, warm and nourishing against the desperation that came with the sands, and she was with her family, people who would give their lives for her, and she for them. It was strange how such a family had formed, she mused, thrown together in chaos and fear to bring about something so wonderful, so blissfully perfect, that Toast knew she would never let such a feeling leave her, ever again. These were her sisters, her mothers and brother. And Cayden, who seemed to be something else entirely.

As she engulfed herself in the sensation of family, one that she had lost before and would want to feel for the rest of her life, she felt the warm, familiar sensation of a leather jacket being placed around her shoulders. Cayden had moved to sit down beside her, vacating his place near the dwindling fire to join their little huddle. Shifting in her spot, Toast leant against the warrior, his body acting as a warm pillar as she stared out across the world. Despite the night's chills, he wore nothing over his shirt, although the heat that rushed through his veins acted as a furnace for the man, bringing warmth to his limbs in defiance of the darkness. Toast looked surreptitiously up at him, studying his face as it too looked out at the desert. Her mind almost went blank when he was near, the simple fact of his presence serving to both calm her nerves and alight her mind, strange thoughts and sensations flitting through her head like the birds Miss Giddy had told her about, so long ago at the Citadel. Whatever these feelings were, they kept her heart going, their existence, while frustrating in their obscurity, reassuring her that, unlike some of the Wasteland's inhabitants, she still had something inside of her, a spark of humanity that hadn't been stolen away by pain or loss. And, as with her family, she wouldn't give it up for anything.

"Look." Cheedo's voice sounded so quiet in the night air, almost like a whisper on the wind. Toast's eyes followed the frail girl's finger, looking up into the night sky. In among the stars, which twinkled like jewels, there was one moving, streaking across the inky blackness like the fastest of motors, leaving a trail of white in its wake. It was beautiful, Toast thought, as she followed its progress.

"That's what you call a satellite." One of the Vuvalini said, trying to explain the streak of light. Toast tasted the word on her tongue, recalling lessons from Miss Giddy from so long ago, the old woman teaching so much about the world before, about the way people had lived before they were wiped away, leaving nothing but sand in their wake.

"Miss Giddy told us about those." Her voice seemed so quiet in the night, the words coming through her mouth almost of their own volition, instead of by any command from her. "They used to bounce messages across the Earth."

"Shows." Another of the warrior women stated. "Everyone in the old world had a show." Another part of the past Toast had learnt of. The idea of them, things that people could watch to cheer them up, bring them together, give them knowledge, or do a multitude of other things, had always sounded slightly ridiculous to her back in the Vault. Now though, the idea was oddly comforting. After all, there were many in the Wasteland that needed at least one of these small things.

"Do you think there's still somebody out there?" Toast asked, a slight hope creeping into her voice. If there was, maybe there was indeed some kind of future for this world. "Sending shows?"

"Who knows." Came the answer from behind. Not a definite no, but not a yes either. A maybe. And a maybe meant the possibility for a yes.

Allowing the comforting thought to move through her being, Toast moved her head against Cayden, attracting his attention. She felt him look down at her more than seeing, the sudden awareness of sharp eyes looking at her growing at the back of her mind.

"What is that place?" She almost whispered to the older road warrior. She didn't need to point out what she was looking at. From where they were sitting, there was only one thing she could be referring to. The large, empty, flat area of desert ahead, barren of anything that could resemble life, and, with the light of the sun on it, possessing patches of salt that reflected the bright light in a blinding fashion.

"Those are salt flats." His deep voice replied, the quietness with which he spoke making his words slightly croaky. He obviously wasn't used to speaking in such a quiet manner. "Although some call them the Plains of Silence."

Toast kept staring out across the empty land. She could see why people would call them such. Not a sound of anything came from that direction, and from the shape of the horizon, she doubted that there was anything within a thousand miles that would ever give even the slightest resemblance of life.

"A place devoid of anything whatsoever. Where the only inhabitants are the lost and the damned." Cayden kept talking, and Toast turned to see his face. His eyes had never left the flat plains, although they danced with a sense of familiarity that looked to have been hard earned. She wondered at this.

"How do you know?" She finally spoke. At a look from him, she pressed on. "There could be something out there. Maybe no-one's found it." She could feel more eyes behind her, and knew that the rest of their small group was looking their way.

A quiet, rumbling chuckle came from Cayden's throat. "I know because I've been there before." He explained. "Spent near a hundred days in the emptiness with only my thoughts for company. Trust me, if there was something there, I would have found it."

"Why did you go?" Cheedo's voice could be heard from behind, and Toast felt Cayden's body shift as he turned to look at her.

"Something bad happened. I went there looking for something else." The statement posed more questions than it answered, something Toast and Cheedo seemed to agree on.

The two asked different questions almost simultaneously, though both were focused on separate parts of Cayden's explanation. "What happened?" came from Cheedo, while Toast's voice asked, "What were you looking for?"

No words came from the young warrior for a second, the man looking to be thinking of his answer. Eventually, he spoke, words quiet yet filled with a steady level of finality in each syllable.

"I lost something very close to me. And I don't know what I was looking for, but I found it in the end."

Toast wanted to press on, curious about what exactly had driven his out into an area that he himself had said was for the lost. But one look in his eyes halted any words dead. Pain seemed to fill him, green orbs shining with so much buried anguish that it almost hurt to look at. Instead, Toast laid down against him again, allowing silence to wash back over them.

After a time, and for seemingly no reason at all, Cayden eventually moved, shifting away from Toast to stand up, stretching his legs before reaching down to grab her hand, pulling her to her feet alongside him. She followed, confused, as he led her away from the rest of the camp, to a quiet spot that, while still in full view of the Rig, offered some level of privacy.

"What is it?" Toast asked. Cayden's face showed a strange expression on it, one she had never seen before. She didn't know how to describe it, in truth. It was like a mixture of pain, determination, and something else.

"It just occurred to me that you don't know how to fight." He plainly said, words so blunt that they took Toast by surprise. "Now, I don't know what's going to happen tomorrow, or the day after that, but I know that it would be nothing but idiotic not to teach you some defence." Toast felt equally elated and insulted at his statement. She could use a gun, better than almost any in their group, but the idea of learning something that could help her to protect her family was something she couldn't pass up.

"I already know how to fight though." She insisted, choosing to at least try and defend her ability. Cayden nodded briefly.

"Yes, you can use a gun." He acknowledged. "But what if you lose your gun, or your opponent has a gun and you don't. What then?" Toast stayed silent, and Cayden took that as an opportunity to continue. "I might not always be around, and it's important you learn how to do this." He explained. "You up for it?" Toast didn't hesitate for a second before nodding, eager to learn whatever this road warrior could teach.

Silently, he moved towards her, hands on her arms and legs as he moved her body into a stance. Legs bend slightly, on the balls of her feet, with her body turned slightly to the side. "Presents a smaller target," he explained. After he was content with her position, Cayden reached into a small pocket on his combat pants, drawing a pistol and pointing it at her.

"Now," he began, "if someone does this, you need to push the gun away and move in." He talked her through the process slowly, correcting her movements and directing her body. "Good." he said when the demonstration was complete. "Now you need to do it faster."

And Toast did. Every time he raised the gun, she knocked it aside and rushed forward, ducking down and pressing her fist against his stomach. If she'd been holding a knife, the blade would have pushed straight through him. Cayden wasn't content, however, telling her to move faster, hit harder, after every try. It eventually got to a point where Toast, body tired and starting to hate her teacher's tough lessons, reached the breaking point. She batted the gun aside and, with the last of her strength, hurled herself forwards, both fists colliding with Cayden's body. He hadn't been expecting it, and the surprise at the force of the blow was enough to send them both flying backwards, coming to rest on the sand with Toast straddling Cayden's stomach, looking down at him with a fire in her eyes that was on the verge of rage. He stared at her for a second, before a small grin began to break out across his features.

"There's hope for you yet." He said, pushing the small weight gently off his body before rising from the dust, swiping away the parts of the desert that clung to his clothing, refusing to let go. Similarly, Toast patted herself down, using the moment to try and slow her racing heart. The whole thing had been absolutely exhilarating, pushing the blood through her veins faster than it had ever gone. The feeling of strength, the knowledge that she could do this, that she had the capability to defend herself, have given her such a rush, and she wondered if this was how Cayden felt when he fought. Did he feel the racing sensation, the feeling that everything was slowing down, and that he could see, hear, smell, _feel_ everything? Toast found that she couldn't wait until the next time she got the chance to learn something like this.

Looking up at her teacher, she was distracted from her thoughts by the sound of someone clearing their throat behind her. Turning, she saw Furiosa and one of the Vuvalini, she thought her name was Valkyrie, standing there watching, a look on both their faces that told her they were waiting for something, as well as a steel in their eyes that clearly showed the importance of whatever it was.

"Cayden, can we talk to you for a moment?" Furiosa asked, glancing at Toast as the curiosity grew in the young woman's eyes. "Alone."

Toast looked over at Cayden, whose face, at least to her eyes, clearly showed the same sense of curiosity that she felt, although his was hidden behind a wall of stone. He nodded to her slightly, barely a tilt of the head that told her what he wanted. She could go, he'd be fine. Sending a similar nod in return, Toast began to move back to the camp fire, purposefully not looking around. Sitting back down in the sand, she turned her gaze surreptitiously towards the distant conversation. The words themselves eluded her, voices too soft to hear. She could see their faces, however. There was a steady look of commitment and strength on the faces of the women, as though they were about to enter battle. Cayden seemed more agitated, eyes flicking around and lowering to the ground, showing a look that Toast had never seen on him before. Fear. He was _afraid_ of whatever they were talking about. This caused her curiosity over the topic to skyrocket. What was it that could make one of the strongest people she knew feel such levels of fear. She didn't have to wait long to find out.

"We're going to cross the Salt Flat." Furiosa began, standing before the four remaining ex-Wives. "We'll load up the bikes with as much fuel and supplies as possible, which should give us a good 160 days of travel. It's the best chance we have to escape Joe, and we should be able to find somewhere safe to settle." It was a good plan, Toast had to admit, and one that would definitely bring them freedom. Joe, for all his madness and possessiveness, would never want to stray so long from the Citadel. It was his powerbase, and was completely unprotected whilst he chased the group. Following them across the salt would be too much, even for him. And, despite Cayden's earlier warnings, Toast trusted Furiosa to know where they were going. 160 days was a long time, and the Plains of Silence couldn't be infinite. They'd find somewhere, a new place to call home, a new chance to live in freedom and peace. All they had ever wanted.

Still, even as the talk around what would happen when the sun finally rose continued on, Toast couldn't focus on what was being said, her eyes instead being drawn to the hunched over figure sitting in the darker shadow of the War Rig. From the way he sat, she might have thought that Cayden was in pain, perhaps due to her stitches ripping free. She knew better, though. It didn't take much for Toast to add up all the available clues. The fear he'd displayed when first hearing the news, the way his body was almost crumpling in on itself, the look of pain in the warrior's eyes, vibrant green replaced with a dull, almost sickly alternative. And the look of defeat that had been in Furiosa's eyes when she had first approached with the plan that could free them all forever. All of these created an image that was far too obvious to get wrong, sending a message that Toast thought would break her heart. And as she sat there, surrounded by the raising spirits of her sisters, she could only wrap her head around one simple fact.

Cayden, the only man in her life she trusted had come to a very different decision. And he would not be coming with them.

MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW

The camp was truly silent now, with the moon high in the sky and shining its silver light down on the world. Toast lay under her blanket, body curling around itself as she tried to sleep, eyes squeezing tightly shut to block the world out. It didn't matter what she did, however, rest would just not come. It was like some otherworldly force was keeping her conscious, refusing to let her surrender to the darkness for some unknown reason. Toast knew the reason, though, and it had everything to do with the man sitting not a dozen feet away from her, staring into the remnants of the fire.

Since she had figured out what the morning would bring, or rather who the morning would take away, she hadn't been able to focus properly on anything. She had put on a show to join in with her sisters, more in an attempt to quell any suspicion than an actual celebration. She had listened half-heartedly to further details, paying enough attention to hear what would happen, but only just enough. The rest of her mind had just wandered, unable to latch on to anything solid. It was like the ground beneath her feet had suddenly been taken away, and Toast was left falling into nothingness, abandoned in the void by something so central and so important, she couldn't possible go on without it. The feeling was… disconcerting, to say the least, and Toast doubted that, until it was completely removed from her head, she wouldn't be able to focus on anything else.

Pulling herself up, she moved towards the fire, blanket wrapped around her body. Cayden barely looked up as she passed him, acknowledging her presence with only a slight murmur, eyes fixed on the embers still burning in the pit. Toast sat down across from him, staring across the short emptiness at his hunched figure. No sound passed between the pair for several minutes, neither giving up their tasks to allow for it. Eventually, as though her gaze was burning holes into his body, Cayden raised his head, green eyes meeting brown as they stared at each other, taking in their faces and the looks in their eyes. After what felt like an eternity, Toast opened her mouth.

"Come with us." She said, a plain statement that, with the force behind her words, might as well have been an order. Cayden was silent for several long moments, eyes dropping back to his fire.

"I can't." He finally responded, voice trying to end the talk. Toast refused to back down, however.

"Why not?" She pressed, leaning forward to get a better look at him.

"I work better on my own." The explanation came after a lengthy paused, and Toast saw through it right away.

"Bullshit." She argued, the word forcing his eyes right back up to meet with hers. "I saw how you fought with Furiosa, how you worked with us in the swamp. You work fine in a group, good enough to come with us. So why not?" She was almost begging as she finished, voice growing desperate in her attempts to make the man change his mind.

"It's complicated." He replied, eyes boring into hers. "Too complicated."

"Tell me anyway." Toast would not let this chance escape her. If she could do anything to make Cayden choose to come with them, she would do it in an instant. Silence fell once again between the pair, and she worried that no more would be said on the subject. As she began to shift beneath her blanket, Cayden finally began to speak.

"You know about what happened to my home, yes?" He already knew the answer. Even as his body had begun to sleep the night before, he had still heard the whispered conversation between the women in the back of the Rig, the soft voice of Cheedo retelling what he had said to her in the sand. Toast nodded, the memory of the description causing her to shiver slightly. It had not been pleasant.

"Well, after they had gone, I chose to leave. I had to, I couldn't stay there. I didn't know if the War Boys would come back or not, but even so. That place had too many painful memories for me to stay. So, after I managed to crawl out of my hiding spot, I walked right out the gate." He let out a huff of laughter at this. "But, since I didn't know what I was doing, I forgot to take any water or food with me. My first mistake in the Wasteland, though certainly not the last."

"I wandered for days, the sun making me delirious and the lack of water almost killing me. It would have killed me, if I hadn't been found. An old man came across me after I'd collapsed, and he fed me. He gave me water and shade, he patched up the few injuries I'd given myself from walking and falling, and he took me back to his home." A faint smile began to grow on his face. "It was just a junkyard, a load of piles of metal and scrap surrounded by a wall, but it was good. There was water and food, shelter and a chance to make a living."

Cayden paused, and Toast looked into his downcast eyes. There was sadness in there, a very great deal of sadness and pain. But, just visible, was a glimmer of something else. Happiness. Happiness at the world his memories had brought back to him. "The man insisted I call him Gramps. He was old, very old, with a white beard down to his stomach. He'd fix things that people bought him, sell some of the odds and ends he could salvage that were still worth anything. There was a small cavern in a cave nearby, with a stream of running water still there. It was a good life, one of the best someone could get out here." He shook his head briefly, as if clearing away dust in his mind.

"Anyway, Gramps took me back to his home, and saw to me proper. Gave me food and water, as well as some new clothes. He also introduced me to Ella." The happy spark in his eyes seemed to grow brighter at this. "She was his granddaughter. Her parents had been killed by some scavengers, and she was the only family he had left. Tiny little thing, barely six when I met her. But the most adorable little girl you'll ever meet." The sadness had almost vanished in him, and his voice glowed with pride as he spoke of his friend. "She was so curious about everything, never stopped asking me questions. But I didn't mind. She was like the little sister I never had."

"I stayed with Gramps and Ella for months, dozens of them. Helping out around the junkyard, scavenging and fixing stuff. I even visited some of the nearby settlements to trade, although not very often. Gramps didn't like us going too far away. I made my shotgun when I was there," his hand moved to stroke the old weapon by his side, "the first thing I ever made on my own. Me and Ella even started building a car when she was old enough to help out. It was good. It was home. Until it all went to shit" The happiness that had once filled his eyes had begun to wane, and Toast could feel her heart reach out to him as she saw it vanish entirely, replaced once again by sadness, pain and guilt.

"One day, these two strangers showed up at the gate. A woman was dragging a man in on a sled. Both were pretty badly injured; the man had lost at least half his leg. Gramps and I did what we could to fix them up, and the woman told us about what had happened. They'd been part of a trading caravan that had been attacked by a motorcycle gang. Completely eradicated, except for these two. We let them get some rest, and in the meanwhile, Gramps and I had a talk over what should happen next."

Cayden's voice was growing low at this point, getting closer to becoming a whisper. "I wanted to go out and try to salvage some of what the caravan had. It would have been enough to maybe get us some extra supplies, I thought. Gramps was against it, though. 'Safer in here than it is out there', he kept saying. We got into a pretty heavy argument, and in the end, I just went. Dead of night, I took one of the buggies and just headed out. I doubt anyone knew I'd gone until the next morning."

"When I reached the caravan, it took me a few days to properly take it all to pieces, collecting a good amount of usable scrap. Once I'd finished, I began to head back. I was also there when…" Cayden tailed off for a second, swallowing a fresh wave of emotion before continuing, "…when I saw the smoke. The junkyard was burning. They'd been attacked while I was gone. By the same gang as well, if the woman's description can be believed. The strangers were dead, Gramps was almost hacked to pieces. And Ella was dying. There was a hole in her stomach, and so much blood underneath her. She told me about a monster of a man, who'd led the charge in through the gate. They'd held off for a few days, but not long enough for me to get back and help. I held her in my arms as she died." Cayden's voice was barely audible at this point, words coming out in a harsh whisper. "I buried the bodies, and stayed just long enough to finish mine and Ella's car, before leaving. Too many bad memories there, again. And thus, died my second home."

Cayden looked up at Toast. "It didn't take me long to reach here. I'd heard of the Plains of Silence, and what it could offer you if you looked. I just wanted to die at that point, to let the desert swallow me up and let me be with the family I'd lost. I drove for days, before something hit me. I must have been kept alive for some reason. After all I'd faced, all the pain, it was the only logical conclusion. So, I turned around and left the Plains, looking for my purpose. It didn't take me long to find it."

"A few months later, I came across this small settlement. It was being harassed by a vicious motorcycle gang. Guess which one. When I found out, I promised to help sort the issue out. I tracked the gang back to their hideout and attacked them in the night, as they were either asleep or getting drunk from what they'd stolen. It wasn't exactly hard wiping them out, most couldn't even stand up. But I kept a few alive."

His eyes darkened along with his voice, while his body curled up and tensed, his entire being seeming suddenly far more dangerous. "I asked them some questions, about some of the places they had hit. They weren't very co-operative to start off, but I managed to loosen their tongues eventually. They told me all I wanted to know. About a junkyard that some Citadel Warlord had paid them to attack, about the hulking brute of a son that was sent with them, about that same brute shooting a little girl in the stomach when she'd screamed out for someone. They told me their stories, and I found what I wanted."

Cayden's eyes met Toast's with a look that was part raging fury, and part heart-breaking despair. "Joe ordered the destruction of the only two places I've ever called home. He saw to the deaths of everyone I ever saw as family, and he left me with nothing but bones and ashes." Letting out a shuddering breath, he straightened his back, face looking like he was forcing himself not to cry.

"Every time I allow myself to get close to someone, they get hurt. Every time I think that I've found somewhere that I could belong, it gets taken away from me. That's why I can't come with you. You've been nothing but kind to me, and I can't risk bringing death and destruction down on you anymore than I already have. The further away I am from you lot, the safer you will be."

Toast tried to speak, to protest his declaration of misfortune, but no words would leave her mouth, the story he had just told her of his past forcing her voice away. He had just opened his heart to her, revealed everything that had led him to becoming the man he was now. All the pain, all the loss and heartbreak, so much that it was almost too much for her to bear. Focusing back on the road warrior before her, she saw that he had begun to mutter to himself.

"If I take one of the bikes, and drive it close enough to Joe's War Party, I might be able to buy you lot some extra time. Not much, but enough to put more distance between…"

"No!" Toast almost shouted, the single word filled with shock and distress for what the young man was planning. "You can't," she continued, voice lowered so as not to disturb the sleeping women, "you won't last five minutes against him."

"I think I might last a bit longer than that." Cayden's laugh was devoid of any mirth, and Toast could only glower at him for attempting any sort of joke at that moment. "Besides, it doesn't matter. I have no intention of surviving such a meeting, and if it helps your escape, so much the better."

Toast couldn't contain herself any more. Rising from her position, the blanket fell away from her as she stormed around the firepit, squatted down beside Cayden, and used the full force of her strength and ever-growing anger to punch him across the face, fist clenched so tight that her knuckles were white as she struck, knocking the surprised man onto his back.

"Don't even think of doing ANY of that!" Her voice was a harsh whisper as she pushed her face close against Cayden's, the fury burning bright in her eyes. "I'm not going to let you just drive away and kill yourself trying to protect us. I've already lost Angharad, I can't lose you too." Her vision turned blurry as tears began to spill from her eyes, all the pain she had bottled up over the past few days finally reaching a tipping point, the dam inside her heart bursting into a million pieces. She sank to her knees, body shaking as she wept silent tears.

The feeling of a warm body wrapping around her caught her attention, and she realised that Cayden had risen from his position on the floor, the road warrior having moved to comfort her in a hug. She snaked her arms around his torso, holding him tight as she wept into his chest. They stayed like that for several long minutes, Cayden giving Toast the time and comfort she needed to release the full force of her pain. After a while, the choked hiccups and sniffles began to subside, and Toast leant her head against the worn leather jacket.

"I can't lose you." She whispered, so quiet that even she could only barely hear it. "I can't."

"And you won't have to." The low response brought Toast's head up to look at the man. "I've been running. Faster than I've ever run, and I've been running for so long." He whispered, a new light shining in his eyes. "Maybe it's time for me to stop." Leaning his head down, Cayden pressed his lips gently against Toast's. Shocked at first, she eventually began to reciprocate. The kiss was small and chaste, but it seemed to finally announce something to the world, something that had plagued the two survivors ever since the moment they met.

"If you will have me," Cayden said once they pulled apart, "I will stay by your side until my last moment. I promise you."

Toast's voice had vanished once more, her mind still reeling from the explosions of sensation and revelation that had just taken place. Barely managing a slight nod, she pressed her head back against his chest, doing her best to signal her answer through the tightened grip on his jacket. It seemed to do the trick.

Holding her against him, Cayden lowered the both of them down to the ground, Toast resting slightly on top of him. As he listened to her breathing slow and deepen, the sound of sleep taking over, he looked up at the stars. What clouds that had been there before had dispersed, leaving the night sky open to a plethora of lights, dancing across the roof of the world. And, as he felt his consciousness slowly begin to slip away from him, Cayden thought he could see the face of a little girl, smiling down at him. After all the Wasteland had taken from him, maybe it was finally giving something back.

MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW

MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW

MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW*MMLW

 **Aaw, the wait is over. Love can finally blossom...**

 **Sorry for the wait, I've had a lot of stuff needing my attention. I can't promise faster uploads in the future, but I will do my best.**

 **This is my first time writing a scene like this (with icky love bits in it), so it might be a bit s***. If it is, sorry, and I'll try to update it sometime in the future.**

 **Anyways, thanks for reading, and hope to see you again soon.**

 **TimeFury1347**


End file.
